Blood of Dragons
by onlinesorcery
Summary: An orphan on the streets of Riften, a young girl struggles for survival by falling in with those like her. But fate may have another path laid out before her. A novelization of Skyrim. True to lore and timeline, with some minor changes to event order to make the story flow better.
1. Prologue

My homeland has been torn apart by civil war.

The Empire uses its vast might to crush the uprising. The rebels refuse to break, giving blow for blow, blood for blood, death for death. The snows run red. Holds are splintering from within as family turns on family. No one knows who to trust. My home is tearing itself apart.

And I'm not even sure which side is right.

People would laugh at me for that. What would I know about right and wrong? I'm a thief. I begged on the streets of Riften before the Guild took me in. I spent years with them, stealing for money or just to survive. I was nothing. I meant nothing to anyone.

Now all of Skyrim knows my name. Imperials and Stormcloaks alike claim it is my divine destiny to help them. Champion they call me. Savior.

Dragonborn.

I just wish I knew what that meant.

My name is Issana Hastratus, and this is my story.


	2. Night Streets

Rain poured off the roofs. It fell in thousands of little waterfalls from shingles towards the streets, where it splashed into the roadside pools below. The night sky was starless, blocked out by heavy clouds that flickered with distant lightning.

Issana huddled deeper into the shadow of a wall. She sat hugging her knees, her soaked dress clinging to her thin frame. Wet brown hair had plastered itself against her face as rain dripped in her eyes and splashed mud over her tattered shoes.

She cast a look down the dark street. Others shivered in the shadows here too, men, women, all without a single Septim to their name. The outcasts. Riften's downtrodden.

She was one of them now, kicked from the orphanage the day she turned sixteen. Issana raised a hand to gingerly touch the bruising Grelod had given her on the cheek. It was nothing new. Issana knew she was lucky to have escaped with such a minor beating. Some of the other kids had tried to stay past their coming-of-ages too, and bruises were considered a blessing.

Being kicked out into the rain wasn't much of a surprise either. It always rained here. People said that Riften rained for half the year, and the other half it was about to.

That didn't make it any more comfortable.

Issana glanced up as footsteps sounded through the mud. There was a man standing a couple of yards away, hood up to keep the rain out of his face. He crouched down and offered her a bottle. "Something to warm you up, girl?"

Issana shivered and glanced at him warily. "What is it?"

It'll make you feel better, trust me."

Issana took it. The bottle was old and scratched and looked like it had been used and reused many times. And something about the man's smile seemed a little bit… unsettling.

"No, thank you," Issana said. She passed the bottle back. "I'll be all right."

"Oh, I insist," said the man. He edged closer. "Just a sip. You'll feel all better."

Issana tossed the bottle back to him. "No."

The man threw it to her once again. "I said, 'drink'." His cloak shifted and she caught sight of a long knife at his belt.

"And I said no." Issana hurled the bottle at his head and sprang away. Her wet dress tangled itself around her legs and she stumbled. The man caught her by the wrist. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to listen to your elders?" He uncorked the bottle and shoved it into her face. "Drink!"

Issana let out a panicked squeak as a huge shadow suddenly loomed over them. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a voice.

The man spun around and a heavy axe shaft caught him under the chin. He fell flat, groaning. A muscular, armoured woman stood over him, axe resting on one shoulder. She planted a foot on the man's chest. "Are you all right?"

Issana nodded.

The man let out a grunt as the woman leaned her weight on him. "No," she said. "You and I have a meeting with the guards."

The woman stooped to pick up the bottle and gave it a sniff. "Skooma. You're lucky you didn't drink it."

Issana could only nod dumbly.

The woman let her axe slide into a loop on her back before reaching down to grab the stunned man by his cloak.

With a snarl he lunged. Steel flashed but clanged off the woman's iron plates. The woman dealt him an iron-clad punch and knocked him flat again. She kicked the knife away and struck him one more time, shaking blood from the man's lip off her gauntlet. She glanced down at Issana as she heaved the man upright. "Take care of yourself."

Issana picked up the knife from where it had fallen. "Thank you."

The woman nodded and began to walk away, dragging her hapless prisoner behind her.

"Wait," Issana called after her. "Who are you?"

The woman turned and smiled. "Mjoll." She gave the struggling man a kick and dragged him off into the rain-soaked night.


	3. Welcome to Riften

The rain showed no sign of letting up even after dawn. Issana had hardly slept, too cold and wet and wary to for her eyes to close. As the sun's rays began to glow in the eastern sky, she brushed her dripping hair from her eyes and got up. Her stomach growled.

She wasn't quite sure where she was going, but her feet led her absent-mindedly through the streets. Not many people were out at this hour, let alone in this weather, and the few that were seemed to glare at her out of dark alleys. She glanced down at the rain-flooded ground and kept walking.

Her foot caught something wooden and she went sprawling. "Hey!" someone shouted. "Watch where you're going!"

Issana stood upright, wiping her hands on her dress. She winced at the scratches the road had inflicted on her palms. "I'm sorry," she said, turning around. She saw an angry-looking dark elf woman, red-eyed and grey-skinned, glowering down at her with folded arms. The wooden object she'd tripped over was the wheel of a cart, on top of which sat a pile of vegetables. The dunmer stood beneath an attached awning, doing her best to stay dry.

"Be careful," the elf said.

"I will. I'm sorry." Issana looked the vegetables up and down and her stomach growled again. "I-" she began hesitantly. "I don't have any money. Do you-"

The elf shook her head. "I don't do handouts. Sorry."

Issana swallowed hard. "I… I understand." She turned and walked away.

She looked around and saw she was in Riften's central marketplace, normally a cacophony of noise and colour on an island in the city's canals. Today, however, the rain seemed to have kept many of the merchants indoors. There were a few laying out their wares as the sun rose higher, as well as several beggars, but the market was mostly deserted.

"Spare a coin?"

Issana glanced around for the source of the voice and saw an old, balding man sitting on a rotting wooden box. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't have anything."

The man snorted. "Sure, sure. I'm a dirty beggar. Why would you-"

"No," Issana interrupted. "I really don't. I… I just got kicked out of Honorhall."

"What, the orphanage?" said the man. "Old Grelod losing her kind heart?"

Issana laughed bitterly. "Right."

"Well, then," said the old man. "Let me welcome you to the real Riften. All the rich piles of dung walking past us like we're not there, pretending we don't exist. That's what you've got to look forward to. Enjoy."

Issana wiped something from her eye and she wasn't entirely sure if it was a drop of rain.

"Ah," said the beggar. "Come here. Come sit by old Snilf."

Issana shook her head slightly.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Rough night?"

She nodded.

"Who?"

"I don't know. He tried to give me skooma. Got dragged off by someone named Mjoll."

Snilf laughed and clapped his hands together. "Serves him right. She's all right, that Mjoll. Thinks she can fix this place, so maybe not all right in the head, but she looks out for us beggars, and that's enough for me."

Issana took a timid step towards him. Snilf shifted over to allow her space on his box. "Hungry?" he said.

"Starving."

"Not yet you're not," said Snilf. "But I'll tell you what, that dark elf over there with the vegetable cart, I can't get near it. She's caught me trying to pinch carrots out of there too many times. But if I distract her, you could grab enough for both of us."

"Steal?" said Issana.

"Eat," Snilf replied flatly. "You want to eat, don't you?"

Issana nodded.

"Then you'll have to get used to taking what you can. Besides, haven't you had a hard enough life already? Don't you think the world owes you, just a little bit?"

Issana was quiet for a moment as rain poured down on them. "Maybe."

Snilf smiled. "Good. I'll wander over there and old Marise will come right after me. All you have to do is grab something when she's not looking."

"I can do that."

Snilf rose and offered his hand to pull Issana upright. "Good luck." He sauntered off into full view of the dark elf. "Ho there, Marise!" he said.

"Off with you, Snilf, or I'll call the guards." Marise took a step towards him.

Issana walked in a wide circle, coming up beside the building Marise had set her cart beside. As the elf pointed Snilf away, Issana reached into the cart and grabbed a handful of carrots and a cabbage. Snilf caught her eye and raised his hands defensively at Marise. "All right, all right," he said. "I'm going." Issana walked quickly out of sight around the building and Snilf caught up with her shortly after. "Well done," he said. "My share?" He held out his hand.

Issana passed him a carrot and the cabbage.

"Ugh," he said. "Raw cabbage. You have the cabbage. I'll have two carrots."

Issana passed him a carrot instead. "What's a good place to eat?"

"Eh, stay in one place too long and the guards get fussy. Walking is best." He bit off an end of a carrot. "You'll do fine, girl. Once you get used to being a little hungry when you go to sleep, you'll-"

Three men stepped out from an alley, blocking the road. Their clothes were tattered and they were just as gaunt as Snilf. Snilf froze.

"Whatcha got there, Snilf?" said one of the men. "Fresh vegetables? Been pestering old Marise again?"

"Leave me alone," Snilf said. "I gotta eat too, you know. If I die of starvation, who'll you have to push around?"

"And who's this?" said another man, pointing at Issana. Issana could smell the alcohol on his breath from where she stood. "Gotcher self a ladyfriend? Mebbe you wanna share?"

Issana took a step backwards. Snilf whispered out the side of his mouth, "Run."

Issana needed no second urging. She spun and took off down the road. She turned at the first corner, then turned again, and again, and before she'd gone a minute she realized she had no idea where she was.

Snilf rounded a corner just after her and nearly ran her over. He bent low, hands on his knees, gasping. "I think… I think we lost them. Say, can I… Can I have your carrot? I threw mine at one of them."

Issana sank against the rain-slicked wall, chest heaving from the sudden sprint. She handed Snilf the carrot. Snilf smiled appreciatively and took a bite. "Sorry to leave you with the cabbage," he said.

Issana shrugged. "Better than nothing." She brushed some muddy water off the vegetable and bit deep. It was bitter, but it still wasn't as bad as some of the slop they'd been served at Honorhall. And at least it was food. "So this is life here?" she said. "Stealing food and getting chased?"

Snilf opened his arms and let the rain splash over him. "Welcome to Riften."


	4. Iron Bars

The rain finally abated around midnight, but in its absence a thick, heavy fog settled in over the city. Issana could see nothing beyond a few feet in front of her. On the other hand, it meant no one could see her, either.

She settled deeper into the darkness at the base of a stone wall. It was still cold, but at least it wasn't raining. She pulled her knees to her chest to stay warm and felt last night's wakefulness finally beginning to overtake her. Her eyes flickered.

She awoke to a damp, gloomy light in the eastern sky. The sun was hardly reaching through the dark clouds and fog. Issana shivered and felt aches blooming throughout her body from her uncomfortable sleep. But at least she'd slept, even it was only for a few hours.

Snilf was long gone. He'd said the day before that two beggars sleeping in the same area would only bring suspicious guards down on them, or worse. So Issana was on her own.

So far, though, it was going all right.

She got up slowly, wincing as the aches in her body spread. Her dress now smelled distinctly of wet cloth and clung icily to her skin. She felt an even stronger hunger than yesterday, coupled with a painfully dry throat. There was a stream of water running down the stone wall, so she cupped her hands beneath it and drank.

Food would be a more difficult task.

Once she had drunk her fill, she did her best to wring the water out of her dress. It did little. Her shoes were so ratty and waterlogged that she kicked them off and left them behind as she set out towards the market. They'd been rubbing her feet raw anyway.

The marketplace was far busier than yesterday. Even in the cheerless light of the morning, brightly coloured awnings stood gaily over stalls and carts as merchants began to lay out their wares. There were fruitiers, fishmongers, jewelers, farmers, alchemists; everything she could think of was there. Someone even had a dancing bear.

She wandered the awakening market for about an hour, peering cautiously into stalls to see what interesting things the merchants had to sell. Other patrons began to appear in the marketplace too, from richly dressed nobles to labourers dressed not much better than her. Within half an hour the market was in full swing, with merchants calling out their wares to passers-by.

"Imported goods from Morrowind!"

"Vegetables! Vegetables as crisp as a winter's morning!"

"Jewelry with legendary Argonian craftsmanship!"

Issana turned towards the last voice and saw a green-scaled Argonian leaning on his stand, not far away. The lizard-like man gestured to his display of necklaces and rings. "Greetings, honoured friend," he rasped. "Can I interest you in some fine jewelry?"

Issana stepped cautiously forward and looked at the gleaming treasures. Silver and gold set with all manner of precious stones glittered faintly in the dim light of the morning. "I wish," she replied quietly.

"Perhaps another day, land-strider," the Argonian replied with a smile that Issana thought was meant to be friendly, but with all those pointed teeth it looked anything but.

Issana shrugged. "I doubt it."

The market had distracted her from her hunger for a few hours, but now it was growing unbearable. She hadn't seen Snilf anywhere. Just a couple of carrots, she thought. _No one will miss them. I can do it myself._

She started walking back through the crowded marketplace, threading her way cautiously between Riften's citizens.

"Ugh," said a voice. "What is that smell? It's like wet dog and - oh."

Issana froze as she felt someone's eyes on her. She looked up and saw a woman in rich clothes staring down at her. "Shoo, girl. Change your clothes or something. You stink of mud."

A heavily armoured man loomed up beside her. "Shall I get rid of her for you, Lady Maven?"

The woman shook her head. "Don't bother. I have other things to do."

Issana ducked away into the crowd and slipped quietly through it until she came to where she'd found Snilf the day before, across the road from Marise's vegetable cart. The dark elf woman stood waving some cabbages at passing men and women.

Issana darted across the road and waited until Marise was looking the other way. She crept towards the cart and reached in for a carrot or two.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. "I don't think so."

Issana turned and found herself staring into the darkened eye-slits of a guard's helmet. "No, I-" she began, but the guard seized her by the wrist. "A night in Riften jail will teach you a lesson about thieving, girl." He tugged hard and Issana was pulled after him. She wriggled in his grip, trying to free her hand, but he only squeezed tighter. "If you struggle, I'll have you in there for two nights."

Issana stopped fighting the guard's grip. "How's locking me up going to help?" she snapped. "I'll just be hungrier when I get out, and I'll still have no money. You're just going to force me to steal again."

The guard turned his helmeted face towards her. "Would you rather be hanged?"

Issana's momentary sense of rage evaporated. "No."

"Then don't let me catch you stealing again."

"That would be the idea…"

The guard ignored her and dragged her after him again. They left the marketplace quickly and entered Riften's dirty, wet streets. After several minutes through winding alleys, Issana looked up the road and saw the looming shape of Mistveil Keep, Riften's main fort, a walled, sturdy stone building without much adornment. The guard turned right as they entered the gateway, dragging Issana around the keep's base. A dark wooden door was set in the stonework and the guard pushed it open.

It was dark inside, lit only by a few flickering torches. Another guard sat at a chair in the entrance, some bread and meat spread out on a table. Issana's stomach growled loudly at the sight.

"What've you got there?" said the other guard.

"Thief. Caught her stealing vegetables out of one of the merchants' carts."

"Good. Keep those thieves in the jail where the damned Guild can't get their hands on them."

"Guild?" Issana echoed. "What guild? I don't know what you're-"

"That's enough out of you," the first guard cut in. "Take her down." The second guard rose and grabbed her by the other wrist as the first guard let go. He pulled her down a short flight of steps and into a long hall with iron-barred doors set at intervals along the side. He fished a keyring off his belt, opened one of the doors and hurled her in. The door swung shut with a clang.

The guard rapped his gauntlet on the bars. "Mind you don't cause any trouble down here, thief. I'd hate to have to give you a bruise on your other cheek." He strode away.

Issana watched him go before glancing around her cell. It was small, maybe six feet across and ten feet long. A pile of hay sat in one corner, but that seemed to be where the most putrid smell in the room was emanating from so she stayed away. A large rat poked its head out from beneath it and stared at her for a moment before disappearing again.

Issana felt a painful rumble in her stomach. She sat down against the cold stone wall and hugged her knees, letting her head sink so her forehead could rest against them. And she began to cry.

"Well, well," purred a voice from the cell opposite her. "Would you look who it is."

Issana hastily wiped her face on her damp dress. She peered through her bars. Across the hall, the man from her first night on the streets, the one with the skooma, stared back at her. He leered with broken teeth. "You're lucky these bars are here," he said. "Turning me down, getting me tossed in here. You'll pay for that."

Issana ducked away from the door and sat where he couldn't see her. It didn't stop his voice from carrying, however. "You can't hide. I know you're there. Just you wait, girl."

"That's enough!" bellowed the guard from up the stairs. "I hear one more word out of you, skooma-breath, and I'll knock a few more of your teeth out."

"You'd have to open the door to do that," the man jeered. "Let's see what happens!"

The noise of a chair skidding on the stone floor echoed through the jail. A moment later the guard stormed into the hall. Issana glanced out of her cell as the guard inserted a key into the skooma-dealer's door and swung it open. Two wet thuds sounded and two agonized yelps before the clang of the door signalled that the guard was finished. Issana saw him disappear up the stairs again and heard the other prisoner spit something out.

Issana shrank nervously against the stone wall and let her head sink forward again. Sleep would let her forget her hunger, for a little while at least.

Hopefully.

She really had no idea.


	5. Rings and Pockets

Issana awoke to a pounding headache. Her mouth felt dry as sawdust as she slowly edged towards the bars. "Please," she said, her voice hoarse, "is anyone out there? Could I have some water?"

From the stairs Issana heard the clink of mail as a guard entered the jail. He pulled a ring of keys off his belt and opened her door. "Get it yourself, thief. Your sentence is up." He grabbed her roughly by the dress and hauled her back up the steps. With his free hand he opened the door to the town and tossed her out.

Issana hit the ground hard and the impact sent a flash of pain through her throbbing head. The light was blinding after a day in the dim prison, forcing her to shield her eyes with her hands.

"Clear off!" the guard called after her. "And don't let us catch you stealing anything again!"

Issana pressed one hand to her head in an effort to stop the pounding, but it did little. She staggered like a drunk out of the keep's gateway, back into Riften's dirty streets.

_Water. I need water._ She steadied herself on a grimy wall. If she headed to the marketplace, she could get some water out of the canals. She stepped away from the wall and headed into the town.

The market was busy again, full of people taking advantage of the fleeting good weather. Issana stepped cautiously out from the shadow of an alleyway and looked around for a way down to the canals. It was hard to tell amidst the throng of people. At last she spied the wooden railing of a staircase that led off of the market's central island, down towards the water below. She made for it, ducking around fancily dressed shoppers.

The stairs were clear of people, so Issana reached the bottom without trouble. The canal ran in a big circle around the central island, and beside it a stone walkway jutted out from the wall. A few beggars glanced up at her from the ground. One spat into the canal. "Whatcha want down here, girl?"

"I need water."

The beggars guffawed loudly. "Well, don't be drinking outta the canal," said one. "'Less you don't mind the piss o' the rich mixed in."

Issana grimaced with distaste. "Ugh. Where do you get water?"

"The lake, outside the city gates." The beggar brushed matted hair out of his face and spat into the water again.

Issana glanced past them at a wooden door set in the wall. "What's through there?"

The beggar looked confused and glanced over his shoulder. "Oh. I wouldn't be going in there if I were you, lady. The Ratway's not a place for little girls."

"Why? What's inside?"

The beggar shrugged. "Thieves. Skooma addicts. People who'd cut your throat for a single coin."

Issana sat down on the rickety steps. "Why are you down here, then?"

The beggar flicked a pebble into the canal. "'Cause we got chased away from up there. Get used to it, kid. No one wants us around."

Issana rested her chin in her hands. "I know what you mean."

"Take my advice," said the beggar. "Keep your head down and stay outta trouble. Too many people gettin' killed in their sleep lately."

"I'll be careful."

The man shrugged. "Hey, no need to convince me. Just givin' you a tip."

Issana stood up. "Thank you." She turned and started climbing back up the stairs. Halfway up she called back, "How do I get to the gate?"

The beggar glanced up at her and pointed. "Across the market and follow the main road. It's not far."

As Issana reached ground level, the wave of noise she'd left behind washed over her again. Merchants were shouting, shoppers were haggling, and it seemed that just about everyone had something to yell about. Issana stepped carefully through the crowd, weaving left and right to avoid being knocked over. It was like nothing she'd ever seen.

Finally the crowd thinned, until there were only maybe a dozen people in her way, all crowding around a stand covered with bottles of various shapes and colours. A red-headed, middle-aged man held a green bottle out to the onlookers, waving it enthusiastically. "Yes, that's right, ladies and gentlemen. Essence of Spriggan! It'll make your hair grow back as fast as the grass in spring! Only fifteen Septims!"

In front of Issana, a burly farmer leaned towards a woman. "Another one of Brynjolf's miracle potions. How stupid does he think we are?"

A fat, bald man stepped forward towards the merchant. "I'll take some." He held out a pouch of coins.

The farmer snorted and turned to leave. The crowd began to disperse and Issana quickly made her way out of the marketplace.

"Running a little light in the pockets, lass?"

Issana turned around and saw the red-haired merchant smiling at her.

Issana glanced down at the ground. "You could say that."

The man grabbed a loaf of bread and a bottle of ale from his stand and held it out to her. "Here."

Issana's stomach twisted painfully. She took one step forward, then another, stopping just out of arm's reach. The man beckoned her with the loaf. "I'm not going to hurt you, lass. My name is Brynjolf. I know what it's like to be in your shoes." He glanced down at her bare feet. "Or lack of them."

"What do you want?" Issana grabbed the bread from him and darted out of reach again. She took a huge bite of the bread. It was stale, but in her half-starved state it was like the finest feast any jarl had ever tasted. She tore into it ravenously, then grabbed the ale and downed it in seconds.

"As it happens, I've got a little errand to perform," said Brynjolf. "But I could use an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid."

Issana stopped eating and eyed Brynjolf warily. "What sort of errand?"

"Oh, don't worry your pretty head there, lass. It's nothing dangerous. Simple, really. All you have to do is steal something. Something expensive-"

Issana choked on the bread and spat it out. "Seriously? I'm out of jail for less than an hour and you're asking me to steal for you?" Several people turned their heads towards her in surprise. She glanced away quickly.

Brynjolf raised his hands defensively and waited until people had stopped staring. "Sorry, lass. I usually have a better eye for these things." He stepped back behind his stand.

Issana hesitated. "How 'well-paid' do you mean?"

A triumphant smile spread across Brynjolf's face as he turned back to face her. "Depends how well you pull it off. And believe me, once you've got a taste for it, there's plenty more."

Issana took another bite of bread. "Suppose I was interested. What would I be expected to steal?"

"Something expensive. The argonian on the north-western edge of the market, Madesi, has some very fine jewelry just waiting to be grabbed."

Issana scowled at him. "So once I have something, I just give it to you?"

Brynjolf shook his head. "No. Did you see Brand-Shei across the market? The dark elf selling goods from Morrowind? Put the ring in his pocket without being noticed."

"Why?"

"Let's just say that there's someone who wants to see him put out of business. Permanently. Just so he remembers not to meddle in affairs that aren't his own."

"So I get paid, but Brand-Shei ends up in jail?"

Brynjolf shrugged. "That's the way it works around here, lass. Better him than you, isn't it? Don't you want to eat?"

Issana felt her stomach growl again, but she frowned. "If I could steal it myself, why bother listening to you? Why not just sell it?"

"What do you think the guards would do if they saw a girl like you selling jewelry?"

Issana was quiet for a long while. "All right," she said at last. "I'll do it."

Brynjolf smiled. "Good lass. Don't get caught."

Issana strode back into the crowd and made her way across the market. It didn't take long to spot the argonian; she recognized him from the day before. There were three or four people standing at the stall, admiring the jewelry. Issana didn't give herself time to think twice. She marched quickly towards the stand and, once she was only a few feet behind the patrons, tripped and went sprawling. Her outstretched arms knocked one of the onlookers straight into the stand and sent fine jewelry scattering onto the ground. Issana lay there, feigning a daze as the argonian scrambled around in a panic to recover his goods.

She rolled off her hapless target and started apologizing profusely. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry! By the Divines, how could I have been so clumsy?" She sprang forwards to help, picking up a necklace set with a bright green gem and handing it to the argonian, who grabbed it from her. "Please, I can do this myself."

"No, no," said Issana. "I insist." She grabbed a handful of rings and dropped them into his outstretched hand, save one. She slipped it into her sleeve.

"Please, just let me do it," said the argonian. He brushed her away with a scaled hand.

The man she had knocked over picked himself up and shoved Issana aside with a knee. "You heard him. Away with you, girl."

Issana stood up and looked as embarrassed as she possibly could. "I am so, so sorry. Please, I-"

"Off with you!" the man repeated, waving her away.

Issana didn't hesitate and slipped into the crowd.

The dark elf wasn't very hard to find either. He was leaning on his stall, too busy waving his wares at passers-by to notice Issana coming up behind him. As a woman stopped to look at his goods Issana walked past him and casually dropped the ring into his pocket. Brand-Shei glanced at her irritably as if wondering why she was so close, but he said nothing as Issana faded away into the crowd.

Brynjolf looked impressed when she returned to him. "Well done, lass. My lads already told me what happened. Looks like I chose the right person for the job."

Issana looked down at the ground. "It was… kind of fun, actually."

Brynjolf gave her a roguish smile. "You've got no idea yet, lass. Here you go." He tossed a pouch of coins to her. Her arm dropped from the weight as she caught it. "There's more where that came from," he added. "If you think you can handle it."

Issana hesitated for a moment. Any stealing at the orphanage had always resulted in the offender being beaten and going without supper. To have succeeded-and to be rewarded-it was liberating. "I'm in."

"You can find us in the Ratway, in a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece and we'll see if you've really got what it takes."

Issana nodded resolutely. "I'll be there."

"I hope so," said Brynjolf. "You've got quite the future ahead of you."


	6. Sewer Rats

The Ratway was pitch-black, dripping, and reeked of sewage. Issana closed the door quietly behind her, eyes straining to see ahead into the darkness. She took a few cautious steps forward, tracing her fingers along the grime-coated wall to keep herself oriented, then stopped to listen. Her breath was shaky and she could almost hear her pulse in the darkness.

Voices.

She could hear them from far ahead, somewhere around a bend, but they were quiet enough that she couldn't make out what was said. She crept down the tunnel and felt the wall beginning to curve. A flickering glow slowly came into view ahead. She crouched down and listened.

"I don't know, Drahff," said a gruff voice. "They'd skin us alive if they knew we were doing this."

"Why are you always acting like such a big baby?" snapped a second voice. "I've gotten us this far, haven't I?"

"This far?" retorted the first voice. "We're living in a sewer. You said we'd have a house as big as the Black-Briars' by now."

"You worry about bashing people's heads in; I'll worry about the Guild." There was a moment of silence before the second voice spoke again. "I'm going to check the entrance. Thought I heard the door."

Issana felt panic rising in her throat as the flickering light moved and started spreading across the wall towards her. The glow fell on an alcove in the tunnel wall, maybe ten feet ahead of her. She dove for it, pressing herself flat against the wall and praying to whatever gods could hear that whoever was coming down the hall wouldn't look too closely.

Wet footsteps began to echo down the passage and the light grew brighter. Issana squeezed even closer to the slimy wall.

A scrawny man with a hunting bow slung across his back walked past with a torch in one hand and rusty dagger in the other.

"Anything?" called the gruff voice.

"Not yet. Probably just one of those damn beggars leaning on the door again."

The man continued on down the tunnel. Issana made sure his back was still turned, then crept from her hiding place and made her way quickly towards the sound of the first voice.

"It's nothing," came the scrawny man's voice from the entrance.

Issana peered around a corner and saw a small chamber, circular, with a tunnel leading off the other side. Blocking her way was a pitiful, makeshift campfire with a larger but still underfed man crouching beside it. His back was to her.

"It's always nothing," he grumbled. He shifted his weight and started turning around. Issana leaped as quietly as she could and landed behind him again. The sound of her feet slapping the stony ground was masked by the crackle of the fire.

The man turned around fully and grabbed a dead rat from a pile. Issana didn't wait for him to make another move before she ran off down the other tunnel.

She slowed once the glow was too far gone to illuminate her path. Her fingers began to trace the wall again, guiding her and making her grimace at the layer of slime. She started to lose track of time. How long had she spent in the darkness? Minutes? Hours? The putrid smell of the tunnels seemed to wax and wane, sometimes almost unnoticeable and other times enough to make her gag.

The wall suddenly disappeared and Issana's hand slipped off it. She stopped dead. It had to be a room, but there was no light at all and she could see nothing.

"Who's there?" whispered a man's voice.

Issana shrank back into the tunnel. She heard the sound of flint striking and saw the orange glow of a small fire come to life. "I hear you," the voice said again. "Come out where I can see you."

Issana crept slowly into the room and edged to the left, away from the entrance. Someone moved on the other side of the fire but it wasn't bright enough to see. "Come closer."

Issana hit a corner and stopped. "I know you're there," the man said. Issana could see his outline more clearly as the fire grew brighter. He was a beast of a man, large and muscled. Issana dared not move, but any moment now the fire would be bright enough to reveal her.

Something large and hairy brushed past her leg and she bit her lip hard to keep her shock contained. A long, thin tail followed, winding against her leg as it passed.

A crash of metal and a squeal shattered the silence from just in front of her. Issana still didn't move and the big man across the room stopped, a disappointed look on his shadowed face. "Just a skeever," he muttered, and strode across the room towards the source of the noise. Issana pressed herself into the corner.

Issana could see the dead animal in the growing firelight now, a large, mangy-looking rat about a foot high, cut nearly in half by a rusty bear trap. The large man hunched over it. "Supper is served." He pulled the bear trap apart with a wet, tearing noise and the shriek of rusty metal. Picking up the two halves of the creature, still dripping, he wandered back towards the fire.

Issana tip-toed across the room, hugging the wall. She reached the adjacent corner and saw the exit tunnel beside the campfire. The man took an iron spit and rammed it through both halves of the skeever, then sat down against the wall. Issana stopped. There was no way she could make it through the tunnel without being spotted.

Her foot bumped something round. If she threw it, it might distract the man long enough for her to slip past. Silently, carefully, she crouched down to pick it up.

It dropped from nerveless hands when her gaze fell on it. Black holes for eyes, toothless, pale grey in the firelight-a skull, cracked and old, staring back at her. It hit the ground with a clatter.

The man looked up and his eyes fell on her. A hungry smile peeled its way across his face. "What a pretty little thing you are," he purred. "Come over here." He rose to his feet.

Issana backed away, her back pressed against the wall. "Stay back," she snarled. But the fierceness in her tone shook with fear. The man took a few long strides and stopped in the centre of the room, blocking her escape down either tunnel. "You can't escape," said the man. "Just come here." He beckoned with a meaty hand.

Issana shook her head, heart pounding. She started inching to the right and the man moved with her, edging closer with each motion.

He lunged. Issana sprang aside and the man's fist grabbed air instead. He came at her again, long legs closing the distance in the blink of an eye. Issana jumped out of the way and had to twist to avoid landing in a bear trap. The man lurched after her, hands scrabbling for her shoulders, gaze fixated hungrily on her, and he looked down just in time to see his right leg plant itself straight in the centre of the trap.

The scream ripped apart the Ratway's dank air. The man collapsed, clutching his shattered leg, writhing against the metal as he tried to free himself. Issana ran. She leaped clean over the fire and down the tunnel at the far end, trying to block out the agonized shrieking, but it was unending, rebounding off the stone walls in a rising and falling howl of pain. Her foot caught a raised stone and she went sprawling, but she shoved herself upright and kept going.

She rounded a torchlit corner at full sprint and slammed headlong into someone she didn't stop to see. The person hit the ground hard and a knife skittered away across the stone. Issana didn't look back. Her run took her into a torchlit, square room with a heavy wooden door set in the wall opposite her. Issana ran for it, shoved it open and slammed it shut behind her. The screaming vanished. She pressed all her weight against the door, chest heaving for air.

When she at last was calm enough to look around, she found herself in an immense chamber. The centre of the room was dominated by a round lake, around which ran a stone walkway and some wooden platforms. Across the water were maybe half a dozen people, some seated at tables, some pacing back and forth. A man leaned on a bar in front of a roaring hearth, filling mugs.

The Ragged Flagon. Issana breathed a sigh of relief and sank down to the ground.

"What do you want?" growled a voice. Issana jumped up, startled, and saw a burly man staring down at her. She hadn't noticed him.

"I-" she stammered. "Brynjolf told me to come here." She tried to stop her voice from shaking. "I met him in the marketplace."

The man snorted. "So you're the one? Don't look like much to me."

Issana laughed breathlessly. "Well, I made it here, didn't I?"

The man shrugged. "He's over there. Stay out of trouble, or there's gonna be trouble." He thumped his fist into his other palm menacingly.

Issana nodded and made her way quickly around the lake. There were five people in all at this end, spread around several tables and the bar. Brynjolf's red-haired face glanced up from the bar and he waved her over. She glanced around warily and then darted over to join him.

"Well, well," he said. "Colour me impressed, lass. I wasn't certain I'd ever see you again!"

Issana looked over her shoulder at the door to the Ratway. "I-there's a man back there. He stepped in his own bear trap; I don't-"

Brynjolf and the barkeeper both burst out laughing. "Stepped in his own trap?" said the barkeeper. "That's almost poetic!"

"But," Issana added, "he's screaming, and-"

The barkeeper snorted. "He'll be skeever-food by now. Those things can smell blood."

Brynjolf must have noticed the horrified look on her face. "Don't fret, lass. The world's a better place without him. You don't want to know what he'd have done if he'd caught you."

Issana swallowed hard. "I… I see."

Brynjolf clapped a hand on her shoulder. "But you made it! And that's what matters. Welcome to the Guild, lass." He hopped off his stool. "Come, I'll introduce you to our friends here."

Issana clambered off her stool as Brynjolf gestured to the barkeeper. "That's Vekel. Keeps the bar."

Vekel looked her up and down. "You're Brynjolf's new protege? You don't look like much to me."

Brynjolf shrugged. "Neither did any of us when we started."

"Right, and look where we are now," Vekel snorted. "Running a bar in the sewer with hardly a single contract between the lot of us."

Brynjolf steered Issana away with his arm. "He's always like that, lass; don't worry. Here, Vex, meet our newest recruit."

A blonde-haired woman glanced up at Issana from her table. She said nothing and returned to her meal. Brynjolf chuckled. "She's not exactly the friendliest around here."

A bald, middle-aged man looked over at them from where he stood leaning against a crate. Brynjolf met his gaze and drew Issana towards him. The man proffered his hand. "Delvin Mallory. Let me guess, Brynjolf plucked you off the street and dropped you into the thick of things without telling you which way is up. Am I right?"

Issana nodded. "Something like that."

"Well, after you're done with him, come talk to me and I may have some work for you."

"Work?" Issana said. "What sort of work?"

Delvin laughed. "Eager little one, aren't you? I'll tell you later, once you're settled in."

Brynjolf gestured to a short, dark-skinned woman seated near the water's edge. "That's Tonilia, and Dirge is across the lake."

"I met him already," Issana said. "Dirge? Is that really his name?"

Brynjolf gave her a roguish smile. "Why don't you go ask him?"

"So is that it? Just six of you?" She glanced around. "Sorry, but I was expecting… more."

"Well, no," said Brynjolf, "that's not everything, but I can't be giving you all our secrets yet, can I, lass?"

Issana sat down at a free table. "What do I have to do?"

Brynjolf dropped into the chair opposite her. "Vekel wasn't far wrong when he said we hardly have any contracts. We need to start making people take us seriously again."

"How?"

"This is where you get to prove your worth. See, there's a few people that owe us some serious coin and they've decided not to pay. I want you to… explain to them the error of their ways."

Issana raised an eyebrow. "So I'm a thug."

"No, nothing like that. I might have faith in you, lass, but the others, well, you saw Vex's reaction, and Vekel's. They need to know you're tough. That you can handle yourself. You can get back to picking pockets and getting rich after they know you're a strong lass."

Issana leaned back in her chair. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly big enough to beat money out of people."

Brynjolf leaned forward, a knowing look on his face. "Ah, and that's exactly it, lass. You can get this job done without being a brute about it. Everyone's got a weak spot. All you have to do is find it. Think you can manage that?"

Issana nodded. "Doesn't sound too hard. Who are these people?"

"There are three," Brynjolf said, holding up three fingers. "Keerava, she's the argonian innkeeper over at the Bee and Barb. Bersi Honey-hand, he owns the Pawned Prawn on the edge of town. And lastly Haelga, owner of the ever classy establishment Haelga's Bunkhouse. Oh, the rumours coming out of that place, lass."

Issana counted them out on her fingers. "Keerava, Bersi, Haelga. Got it."

Brynjolf smiled. "Do this right, lass, and I can promise you a permanent place in our organization."

"Any tips?"

"Honestly, the debt is secondary here," Brynjolf replied. "What's more important is that you get the message across that we aren't to be ignored."

"Sounds easy enough. What do we know about the targets?"

Brynjolf laughed. "If I didn't know better, lass, I'd think you were excited."

Issana folded her arms and glared at him. "If this is what I have to do to survive in this city, I might as well enjoy it."

"Spoken like one of us," Brynjolf said. "But regarding the targets, I'd suggest you have a look around. Listen in on them for a bit. Who knows what you'll learn?"

"I'll see what I can find out." Issana pulled out a few coins. "But first, I want some food. And something strong to drink. Vekel!" she called out, rising from the table. "What've you got?"

Behind her, she heard Brynjolf laughing. "Aye, lass. I think you'll fit in here just fine."


	7. Rebirth

Issana strode confidently through the gates of Riften. She was clad in clean clothes, bought with the money she'd earned from Brynjolf, and she'd bathed in the lake outside the city walls. Her stomach was full, thirst quenched, and as she stepped into the crowded streets of the city, she felt new. Gone was the beaten girl from the orphanage, the girl who had cowered in the rain. _No,_ she thought, _my life is my own now. I'll make it what I want._

It was a strange feeling. The clothes she'd chosen, sturdy trousers and a form-fitting leather jerkin, made her look more like a well-off traveler than an orphan girl. It seemed people were actually willing to stop and talk to her when she asked for directions. She'd even tidied up her hair into a neat braid. She hardly recognized herself.

The Bunkhouse was first on her list. It was nearest this end of the city, and from the directions she'd gathered it wasn't hard to find. She gave the building a quick look-over. It was a sizeable, two-storey structure, with warm light shining through the windows. Issana walked up to the door and pushed it open.

A young woman, maybe five or ten years Issana's elder, hurried about with a broom. She rushed to sweep one last pile of dust into the corner before straightening up and brushing herself off. "I'm so sorry about the mess. My name is Svana. Can I help you?"

Issana glanced around. "It doesn't look that messy to me."

Svana gave a bitter laugh. "Me neither. But to Haelga, well…"

"You work here?"

"Work?" scoffed Svana. "If you can call it that. I call it slavery."

"Oh?" said Issana. "How so?"

"I work my fingers to the bone keeping this place clean!" said Svana. "Ever since my parents died and Haelga took me in it's been a nightmare!"

"She's that horrible?" _I bet Grelod is worse._

"I'm stuck living here, working as hard as I can, while those pigs she calls customers grope me and say the most repulsive things to me. She's disgusting."

Issana leaned back against the doorframe. "Don't suppose you'd like to see her brought down a notch, would you?"

Svana was taken aback. "How?"

Issana pushed herself casually off the doorframe and glanced thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "Well, let's just say that she owes someone a good deal of money and I need to convince her to pay up. Willingly. If she had a weakness, something that could-"

"Statue!" Svana blurted out. "Sorry, uh, the statue of Dibella. Haelga worships the disgusting thing."

"Dibella?" Issana asked.

Svana snorted. "One of the Divines. Goddess of beauty, love, and…" She trailed off.

Issana raised her eyebrows. "Ah." _So that's what Brynjolf meant by 'rumours'._ "Where is it?"

Svana gestured with her head towards a bronze statue in the corner. It was maybe two feet high, depicting a mostly nude woman holding a large flower. "Thanks," Issana said. "Where is Haelga?"

Svana picked up her broom again. "She should be back at any moment. Just…" She hesitated. "Don't tell her I said anything."

"I won't." Issana strode over to the statue and tucked it behind her back. As if on cue, the door swung open. A tall, attractive blonde woman entered, probably thirty or thirty-five years old. "Svana!" she snapped. "Are you done? Why are you just standing around?" She looked around, a disgusted look on her face, and her gaze fell on Issana. "What do you want?"

Issana kept the statue from view. "Outstanding debts."

Haelga sneered, folding her arms. "And they send a girl to collect it? Your Guild must really be getting desperate. The money would be better spent by dumping it down a well."

Issana smiled faintly. "Down a well? Maybe, if you want this to join it." She held the statue out in front of her and started tossing it to herself.

Haelga's cold eyes widened. "No, please! I-don't take it! It's-"

"Precious to you? I know. The money, if you'd be so kind."

Haelga nodded vigorously. "I'll fetch it! Please, just… wait there." She darted past Issana and fled upstairs. Issana positioned herself by the door. Haelga could call the guards from a window, but in that case Issana would be gone with the statue before anyone could react. Haelga didn't seem that stupid.

Sure enough, Haelga came tearing down the stairs again a moment later. "Here," she said, and threw a sizeable pouch of coins towards her. Issana caught it and peered inside. It seemed correct. She threw the statue carelessly at Haelga, who jumped for it and cradled it like a baby. "Now get out," Haelga snarled. "I hope you choke on it."

Issana bowed mockingly and left.

She tucked the money into her belt where she could keep an eye on it and headed to the marketplace. Brynjolf was there, as ever, hawking miracle potions at bystanders. Issana tossed him the coins casually as she passed. "One down."

Brynjolf caught the pouch, a surprised look on his face. "You're quick, lass."

"I'll be back with more."

The Bee and Barb Inn looked onto the market square. Issana, confidence blazing from success, strode up to the door and shoved it open.

Her confidence waned somewhat when she saw the sheer number of people in the inn. There were traders, laborers, fishermen, mercenaries, every type of person she could think of. Keerava, the argonian innkeeper, stood behind the bar, filling drinks and laying food on plates as fast as she could.

Issana frowned. It was going to be difficult to get the argonian alone enough to work the money out of her.

"Welcome to the Bee and Bard, milady," said a raspy voice beside her. Issana jumped. A second argonian, scales a dark, swampy green, stood smiling at her. "If I can interest you in one of our special drinks, you let me know."

Issana glanced at Keerava for a moment. "What do you have?"

"Well, first is the 'Velvet Lachance, which is-"

"Actually, I don't care," Issana cut in. "I'm here about her debt."

The argonian's yellow eyes widened briefly. "Now, let's not do anything rash." He stepped close to her. "Look, I'm only telling you this because I care about her and don't want her to get into a war with your people."

"I'm listening."

"Keerava, well, she…" The argonian looked around nervously.

"Out with it."

"She has family in Morrowind. If you mention you know about it, I think she'll listen to you. Just…" He glanced over at her, guilt clearly evident on his scaled face. "Please don't hurt anyone."

Issana ignored him and strode over to the bar, shouldering her way through the inn's patrons. She pushed her way to the bar. "Keerava."

The innkeeper looked up, startled. "Sorry, I'm a bit busy right now."

"Keerava, I'd suggest you pay attention to me."

The innkeeper finished pouring a mug of ale and stalked over to her. "Or what?"

"I'm here to collect your debt."

Keerava laughed. "Really? You? Get out of my inn."

"I wouldn't take that tone with me, argonian." She dropped her voice to a hiss. "Not when the guild knows about Morrowind."

Keerava sprang back. "How could you possibly know-" She shook her head. "No, I'll… I'll pay." She ducked beneath the bar and pulled out a hefty bag. "There. Take it. There's more in there than I owe. Just leave us alone."

Issana grabbed the bag. "Thank you."

When she reached the door, the other argonian shot her a venomous glare. "I hope we never see you again, sewer rat."

"I hope so too," said Issana, opening the door and stepping back into Riften.

The Pawned Prawn was a bit of a walk from the marketplace. Issana breathed deeply, savouring the air and ignoring the stench of fish that permeated this section of the city. She was free. Free of Grelod, free of fear, free to hammer out her own destiny in whatever way she saw fit. _The world took enough from me. My parents, the first sixteen years of my life, my worth. It owes me._

The Pawned Prawn wasn't much more than a sturdy shack, built of heavy logs but undecorated. Issana entered and had to wipe her hand on her trousers to get the door handle's rust and slime off. Bersi, or at least, she assumed it was Bersi, lounged in a chair behind a counter upon which was spread the most random assortment of goods Issana had ever seen. There were precious stones, daggers, fruit, spools of thread, even some armour. Bersi leaped up as she entered. "You!"

Issana glanced around to make sure he wasn't talking to someone else. "Me?"

Bersi immediately produced a bag of coins from below his counter. "Here, take it! I've already heard what happened to Haelga. Just leave me alone!"

Issana's brow furrowed in confusion, but she took the money anyway. "Appreciated." She backed out of the shop slowly, still processing what had happened. Eventually she just shook her head and ignored it.

Brynjolf was beaming when she tossed him the third and final pouch. "Well done, lass! I think we can pack up shop for today." He dumped his potions unceremoniously into a sack and slung them over his shoulder. "If you'll follow me, I've got something to show you."

He led her out of the marketplace and down a curving street. Issana followed close behind him. After a while, Brynjolf pointed to an immense, richly decorated home to their left. "If you ever get the urge for burglary, do not, and I mean _never_, break into that house."

"Why?"

"Because that's Black-Briar Manor, home to Lady Maven Black-Briar. We have, shall we say, an agreement with her."

"What sort of agreement?"

Brynjolf laughed. "The sort where she's the real power in Riften, and once in awhile she has us do some work for her."

"Ah. So Brand-Shei…"

"Exactly." Brynjolf clapped her on the shoulder. "You're picking things up quickly. Ah!" he exclaimed as they rounded a corner. "Here we are."

Issana looked around. "A graveyard?"

"Follow me." Brynjolf crossed the graveyard quickly to where a long sarcophagus lay inside a low, stone sepulchre.

"This isn't your way of foreshadowing my eventual murder, is it?" Issana said.

Brynjolf looked around quickly, then crouched down. "Not at all." He reached out and pressed a diamond-shaped carving on the sarcophagus.

With the grating noise of stone on stone, the sarcophagus slid backwards into the rear of the sepulchre. Beneath it, a narrow tunnel led down into the earth. He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Welcome to the real heart of the Thieves Guild, lass" he said, and stepped into the tunnel.


	8. Among Thieves

The 'real heart of the Thieves' Guild' wasn't much more impressive than the Ragged Flagon. It was a big, mostly empty cistern, with a shallow pool in the centre and a scattering of rooms coming off like spokes of a wheel. On the raised stonework that encircled the pool were set rickety beds, workbenches, shelves, and a few storage chests and crates. The pool's centre had a stone platform connected to the outer ring by four opposing stone bridges, and about half a dozen people milled about the room.

Issana saw it all as she jumped the last few rungs of the ladder. Brynjolf gestured around the room. "This is where the real planning gets done."

"So all your big heists, all that gets laid out here?"

"Wouldn't do for someone to overhear us in the Ragged Flagon, would it?"

"Not really, no."

Brynjolf pointed at the various people in the cistern. "I'd suggest you get to know your new colleagues. Find out who you get on with, and whose way you need to stay out of. Some of them might be willing to give you a few tips, too."

Across the cistern, a long-haired man stood behind a table, poring over a thick book. Brynjolf pointed at him. "And that's Mercer Frey, head of the Guild. Don't bother him unless you absolutely have to, lass. Trust me on that."

"Got it."

Brynjolf started walking away. "Door to the Ragged Flagon is through this passage here. I'll be there if you need anything. In the meantime, make yourself at home."

Issana glanced around the room again. Well, there was only one way to start. She strode towards the collection of beds and stopped at the nearest one. A well-muscled bosmer sat polishing a bow on the adjacent bed. "So you're the new recruit?"

Issana nodded. "This bed taken?"

"Take the third one in from the other end. Nobody's claimed it."

"Thanks."

The elf inclined his head. "You're welcome. Niruin."

"Issana."

Niruin pointed towards the bed he'd mentioned. "Go and pile your things on it, mark it out as yours. That's how it works around here."

"Thanks again."

Issana crossed the line of beds and stopped at the third one from the end. _I don't exactly have stuff to pile…_ She shrugged and unhitched the pouches from her belt, throwing them onto the bed.

"I wouldn't take that bed, if I were you."

Issana looked over her shoulder and saw a short, stocky man about five years her elder watching her with arms folded. "Why not?"

"It's Sapphire's. If she catches you in it, she'll gut you and leave your body in the Ratway."

Issana hastily gathered up the pouches. "Vipir said it wasn't taken."

The man rolled his eyes. "I'll be right back. Oi! Vipir! What sorta game are you playing? Trying to get the kid killed?"

Vipir looked lazily over his shoulder at him. "Oh, come on, Rune. I was just having a bit of fun."

"Right, Sapphire's tons of fun."

Issana leaned around him and looked back and forth between them. "Uh, who's Sapphire?"

"Unpleasant woman," said Rune. "Damn good at cutting purses, but sometimes she's a bit too excited about cutting other things."

Issana pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'll keep that in mind."

"The one beside Sapphire's is free," said Rune.

"Oh, good," Issana said. "So I get to sleep next to a cutthroat. Maybe Brynjolf really was foreshadowing my murder when he took me through the graveyard."

Rune laughed loudly. "I like you, kid. I'll look out for you."

Issana sat down on the free bed. "Anything else I should know?"

Rune sat down beside her. "Well, me and Niruin you've already met. Vipir's out on a job. Cynric is cityside, probably picking locks for fun. He's a bit twitchy when he doesn't have something to occupy his hands."

The sound of heavy footsteps caused Issana to look round. A well-muscled man with red paint streaking his face towered over her. Rune glanced up at him briefly. "And that's Thrynn."

"I'm the muscle here," Thrynn growled.

"I can see that," said Issana, looking him up and down. "You and Dirge would be like two mammoths butting heads."

"I-" Thrynn hesitated. "I'm going to assume that was a compliment. Better for you."

"It was, actually. Sort of." Issana let out a good, long laugh. "Didn't mean any harm by it." She flopped back on the bed. "It feels good to laugh. I haven't had any reason to in a very long time."

Rune nodded in agreement. "We're all a bit like that. Outcasts. But we've got a family here."

"Ugh," Vipir grunted. "If you try and hug anyone again, I'm leaving the Guild permanently."

Issana sat up. "So your name's Rune, huh? Like the letters?"

"Like the letters," Rune answered.

"Want to tell me why?"

Rune shrugged. "My father told me he found me in the wreckage of a ship that sank near Solitude. All I had in my pockets was this stone." From his belt he produced a tiny, smooth rock inscribed with runes. "Guess it stuck."

Issana reached for it. "Can I see?"

Rune dropped it into her hand.

"What does it say?" said Issana, staring at the stone.

"I don't know," Rune said. "No one does. I must have spent every last coin I've made with the Guild trying to find out what it means. I've even taken the damn thing to the College of Winterhold." He swiped the stone out of her hand and tucked it back into his pouch.

"I never knew my parents either," said Issana after a long pause.

Vipir rose from his seat. "That's it, I'm leaving." He stalked off towards the Ragged Flagon.

"I'm with you," Thrynn added, lumbering after him.

"Left at Honorhall?" Rune asked.

Issana nodded.

"Well, if there's one thing I've learned here, it's that it doesn't matter who you were. This place is about starting a new life, not trying to fix or find an old one."

"Starting fresh," Issana said, almost reverently. "I do like the sound of that."

"So do we all," replied Rune. "That's the reason we're all here."


	9. Burglary

"I have an idea."

Issana was leaning back against the bar beside Brynjolf, who was seated and sipping ale. He took a swig. "What sort of idea, lass?"

"When I was out collecting those debts, I spotted an alchemist's shop down by the canals. I listened in for a bit, and it seems like some of the ingredients sell for quite a bit of money."

"Certain ones do, yes," said Brynjolf. "Go on."

Issana flipped some coins onto the bar and poured herself a glass of wine. "Well, leaves and seeds and all that, they're small. We could carry off quite a bit in one trip."

"We could," Brynjolf agreed. "But we don't exactly have much use for alchemical ingredients down here. No one around here knows how to make potions."

Issana nodded. "But suppose a merchant happened to arrive in town, selling ingredients. We'd need to buy a few of the cheaper variety to have a wide enough selection, but I think-"

Brynjolf leaped up. "Lass, you're brilliant. We set someone up as a fake trader, arriving in town a week later with all the supplies. The alchemist will need to replenish his supplies; he'd have to buy from us."

"And since it's all already preserved," added Issana, "we can wait long enough to avoid suspicion. But you know what the best part is?"

"What's that?"

Issana smiled. "Nobody expects an alchemy shop to get hit. The jewelers, they've got their stores locked up tight. But an alchemist…"

Brynjolf looked at her with wonder in his eyes. "Lass, I knew I'd found something great when I saw you in the market. Come on, I've already got a team in mind." He hurried over to where Vex lounged with her feet up on a table. "Vex, our little thief has got a plan. I think you'll want in."

Issana quickly outlined the plan to her. Vex fiddled with a lockpick, twirling it between her fingers. "Could work," she said at last. "And I'm always up for a bit of burglary."

"We'll have Cynric pose as the merchant," said Brynjolf. "That man can talk his way through anything."

"Sounds good," Vex said, still spinning the lockpick.

"And Issana can go with you."

The lockpick stopped dead. Vex didn't look up. "I work alone."

Brynjolf sat down across from her. "It's an easy heist, and she'll learn a lot."

"Teach it to her yourself."

"Oh, come on, Vex. You're the best and you know it."

Issana folded her arms. "I want in."

Vex put the lockpick down slowly. "I don't babysit."

"No one's asking you to," said Issana. "I can handle myself."

Vex said nothing for a long while, until at last she tucked the lockpick into her belt and looked at Brynjolf. "All right. Consider it done."

Brynjolf clapped his hands together. "This is it, lasses. I think the tides of our luck might be ready to turn."

"Sure, sure, let's all celebrate," Vex muttered. "We'll go tonight. Take advantage of the good weather."

Issana nodded. "Works for me."

"Great," Vex grumbled. "Just what I've always wanted."

The night was damp and cold as Issana followed Vex through the empty streets. The alchemist's shop was near the western edge of the city, nestled below the city's ground level in the side of one of the canals. Vex led the way down one of the many wooden staircases that connected Riften's streets to the canal walkways below. At the bottom, Vex stepped into a shadow and pulled Issana in beside her. Issana stayed perfectly still.

When nothing happened for about a minute, Issana whispered, "What's going on?"

Vex grabbed her by the shoulders and fixed her with a narrow-eyed stare. "Let me make two things perfectly clear. One: I'm the best infiltrator this rathole of a Guild has got, so if you think you're here to replace me, you're dead wrong. And two, you follow my lead and do exactly as I say. No questions. No excuses."

Issana pulled back and brushed Vex's hands off her shoulders. She glared at the older woman. "I get it."

"Just-" Vex hissed, but she stopped herself. "Let's go." She turned around and stalked off along the walkway.

The alchemist's shop was only few minutes' walk ahead. Vex tugged a dark scarf up over the lower half of her face and Issana did the same. Outside the door, Vex pulled out a lockpick and some tools and knelt. "Keep watch."

Issana looked up at the streets but saw no one. The canal was deserted too. Behind her, she heard the lock click. Vex stood up and spread some oil into the door's hinges. "Well," she said, "let's go get rich." She held out a piece of paper.

Issana looked at it for a moment. "What's that?"

"Your list. The ingredients you need to find."

Issana looked down at the ground.

"What?" Vex demanded.

Issana muttered something under her breath.

"I can't hear you," Vex said, glancing around to make sure no one was around.

"I said I can't read, all right?" Issana snapped back.

Vex threw her arms up in exasperation. "This is just _perfect!_" she hissed. "How are you supposed to be any help at all if you can't even figure out what we need to take?"

"I'm sure I can figure out what stuff _looks_ valuable, thank you very much." Issana untied the sack from her belt and stepped towards the door. "Shall we?"

Vex grunted something that Issana didn't catch before reaching for the handle. "Ready?"

Issana nodded. Vex pushed the door open silently and they crept inside. It was a small, single-level house with a shop set up in the front and a narrow doorway leading to a back room. Issana ignored the flowers and seeds and other assorted ingredients on the countertop; anything of real value would be behind the counter where someone with light fingers couldn't reach it when the shop was open.

It sure wouldn't stop her, though.

Issana slipped behind the counter as Vex went for a lockbox. Sure enough, there were drawers set into the back. Issana carefully opened the lowest one. _Perfect._ Inside were three clusters of neatly tied bags. She carefully untied one bag to see what was inside and was rewarded with some orange-glowing salts and gust of heat. She hastily retied it and stuffed the six bags that formed that cluster into her sack. The second and third clusters were similar, one with whitish-blue salts that felt cold and one with black salts that made her feel a bit dizzy. She dropped them all into her bag.

Minutes passed as she rooted through the drawers and shelves and grabbed anything that looked expensive. Vex was busy cleaning out a barrel when someone in the adjoining room coughed. Issana froze. So did Vex. Vex beckoned silently. Issana crept towards her and Vex reached for her sack, then pointed towards the doorway. Issana mimed herself going over to keep watch and Vex nodded. Issana passed her sack over and slunk to the doorway, peering in.

It was hard to tell in the dark, but the bit of light coming in through the doorway revealed an elderly couple asleep in bed. They showed no sign of stirring. Issana glanced back towards Vex and froze.

Vex had loosened one end of a potion shelf and was standing in the doorway, holding up the shelf with one hand while the other held the two sacks. Issana mouthed, "What?" and Vex shrugged.

The shelf dropped. Vex sprang out of the door and slammed it behind her. The potions hit the floor with a shatter of breaking glass. Issana leaped for the door and grabbed the handle but it wouldn't budge. Vex had jammed it. From the next room, she heard confused noises as the alchemists awoke. Issana looked around wildly for an escape.

Window.

Near the ceiling was a wooden-shuttered window, just above her head. She leaped for it and grabbed the frame but the rotting wood gave way in her hands. She heard someone shout behind her as she jumped a second time, fingers latching onto the stone windowsill, and heaved herself up. She shoved herself through the old wood of the shutters. Someone shouted behind her but she didn't pay them any heed; she pulled herself the last few inches and toppled out of the shop.

"Guards! Guards" The panicked shrieking of the alchemists was reverberating off the stone walls outside. Issana heard mail and heavy footsteps racing along the street above, getting closer and closer, and all the while the alchemists were screaming for help like someone was about to murder them. She heard the sound of swords being drawn on the street above her head, and without stopping to think, she dove headfirst into the canal.


	10. Cards

"Where is she?"

Issana stormed across the cistern, so furious that she thought the canal water might begin to steam off her instead of dripping. Rune met her halfway, hands raised placatingly. "Calm down, Issana. What happened?"

Issana shouldered past him and headed straight for the Ragged Flagon. The door was slightly ajar and she booted it open. "VEX!"

Brynjolf, Delvin, Tonilia, and Vex were seated around one of the tables, with Delvin dealing out cards. All four of them looked up. Brynjolf jumped upright. "Whoa there, lass. It's all-"

Issana cleared the room before he could react. Vex spluttered something as Issana gripped her by the shoulder and heaved her over backwards out of her chair. "You set me up!" Issana spat. "Tried to grab the loot yourself and get me arrested. Well, it didn't-" She punched Vex in the face. "-bloody-" She struck again but Vex blocked it. "-work!" Vex caught the last punch and flipped Issana over with a twist of her legs.

"That's enough!" roared Brynjolf. Someone seized Issana in a headlock and dragged her backwards while Dirge put a heavy knee onto Vex's chest.

"Both of you, enough!" Brynjolf bellowed again. "What in all the planes of Oblivion is going on?"

Issana struggled against the headlock Delvin had put her in. "She-ragh!-told me to go around a corner, then grabbed the sacks, alerted everyone and locked me inside! I barely got out before the guards showed up!"

Brynjolf whirled on Vex. "Is that true?"

Vex mumbled something under her breath and Dirge wrenched her onto her feet. Brynjolf stepped up into her face. "I said, _is that true?_"

Vex rolled her eyes. "Oh, all right. It's true. So? She got out all right, didn't she?"

Delvin loosened his grip on Issana and gave her a push out of the way. "What's wrong with you, Vex? You've been nothing but a barrel of rotten fish since you botched that Whiterun job. You'll be lucky if Mercer doesn't kick you out!"

"Hah. Kick the best infiltrator out? Sure, that'll happen."

Issana moved to step forwards but Delvin blocked her and pushed her backwards again. "Vex," Delvin said, "you-oh, you've gotta be _kidding_ me. You're worried she's here to _replace_ you? Vex, one bad job doesn't get you kicked out. Don't be an idiot."

"Don't be stupid, Delvin. That's not it at all." But by the way Vex was looking down at the ground, that was _exactly_ it.

Delvin stepped towards her. "Look, I know it's been tough since Hjarald got himself kicked out. But he was stealing out of our coffers! You're not gonna get kicked out and replaced for a botched heist."

Vex wiped blood from her lip. Brynjolf looked over at Issana. "It's up to you, lass. This isn't something we take lightly here. If you want to bring it up with Mercer, it's your call."

"I don't think I'll need to," Issana said. "Now little princess here knows I can look out for myself, she won't try to pull something like that again. Right?" She gave Vex a venomous look.

Vex glared back. "Right."

Delvin stepped out from between them. "Now, do you two need to hug it out, or are we done here?"

Vex shook Dirge's hand off of her shoulder. "We're done." She turned her back and stalked away to the farthest table.

Delvin gave the scattered cards a glance. "Damn, and I'm sure I had a good hand, too."


	11. Interlude

Cynric pulled off our merchant scam off flawlessly. We all got rich. Well, Cynric, Vex and I got rich. Temporarily.

But I had the respect of the Guild.

I ran with them for four years after that. Vex never tried to pull one of her stunts; she contented herself with goading a rather bitter rivalry out of me. Whenever one of us planned a heist, the other planned something bigger. Whenever I good haul from picking pockets and burglaring, she tried to pull off something better. But it didn't matter. I was better. She knew it. Brynjolf knew it; Divines, I think he'd known it from the beginning. Delvin saw it too, and it wasn't long before he started sharing his schemes with me instead of Vex. I could pick locks as easily as a hunter ties his boots; I could vault rooftops and get through windows that nobody else noticed. And I was silent. I made a game of it for awhile, coming up behind other members of the Guild and spooking them whenever I got the chance.

But it was like giving water to a dying animal. The Guild was surviving, but only just; it limped on with only a few contracts coming through every month. There were days we all went hungry; Divines, I think each of us even spent our fair share of time in Riften's jail.

But I had a family. Somewhere I belonged. Brynjolf was the father I never knew, Rune was my brother; even Sapphire, that woman with a stare as sharp as the knives she carried, developed a grudging respect for my talents.

I had a home. And even without food, that was enough.


	12. Contract

4 years later…

* * *

Issana was lounging in the Ragged Flagon, booted feet on a table, chair balanced on its rear legs, a half-full bottle of wine in one hand and an empty bottle on the table. Delvin walked past and snickered. "Celebrating, are we?"

"Go 'way, Delvin," Issana muttered. "I earned that money and nearly ended up in jail fer it." She waved the bottle drunkenly. "You think 's'easy stealin' outta the barracks?"

"Mind if I join you?"

Issana waved him towards the empty chair across from her. "Go 'head. But this is mine." She took a big gulp from the bottle in her hand.

Delvin laughed and took a sip from a hip flask. "Word is that Mercer's got a contract coming your way."

"Contract? I jus' got back from a contract."

"This one's big."

"Know what else is big?" Issana said. "Yer ego, Delvin." She pointed a finger accusingly at him with her bottle hand.

Delvin raised his eyebrows. "Well, now, if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is."

Brynjolf appeared as if out of nowhere, causing Issana's chair to lurch and wine to spill over her trousers. "Mercer wants to speak to you." He glanced at the empty bottle on the table. "But if this is a bad time…"

Issana put the bottle down gently, eyeing it suspiciously. "No, no, 's'fine. I'm fine." She rose to her feet slowly, blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes. "We're-we're good."

"Come on, you," Brynjolf chuckled, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'll come along just to make sure things go smoothly."

The room seemed unusually wobbly as Brynjolf guided her towards the door to the cistern. Issana shook her head hard to clear it. Brynjolf glanced worriedly at her. "You all right, lass? You can take a bit if you need to clear your head."

"No, I'll be fine," Issana said, concentrating on being coherent. "If there's one thing I learned from Thrynn, it's how to-" She hiccuped uncomfortably. "-how to drink properly."

"You're lucky Mercer already respects you," Brynjolf said, shoving her through the doorway. "Otherwise I don't think he'd approve of a meeting in this condition."

Mercer was waiting for them at his desk. "Ah, Issana, good. I think it's time we really put your expertise to the test."

"What's the job, boss?" Issana said, louder than she'd meant to. Brynjolf kicked her foot as Mercer wrinkled his nose at the scent of wine on her breath.

"Goldenglow Estate," said Mercer after a long pause.

Issana frowned. "Isn't that where-"

"Where Vex tried to get in and nearly got herself killed?" Mercer finished. "Yes. In fact, that's part of why I'm sending you in. I know how you two like to outdo each other."

Issana shrugged. "Count me in."

"Good. Goldenglow is critically important to one of our largest clients-"

"Maven Black-Briar," Issana said. Brynjolf kicked her again.

Mercer frowned at the interruption but nodded. "Yes. However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson."

"Makes sense. What's the goal?"

"Goldenglow is a bee farm," said Mercer. "They raise the damn things for honey. It's owned by some smart-mouthed wood elf named Aringoth. You need to teach him a lesson by torching some of the hives. And," he added, "clearing out the safe in his basement."

"Oh, good," said Issana. "I was hoping there'd be something that would need someone of my…" She twirled a lockpick that had seemingly materialized in her hand. "...expertise."

"Are you drunk?" said Mercer.

"No!" she exclaimed. "Well, yes, but I won't be when I need to do the job."

"Well, you'd better sober up fast," said Mercer. "Because you're going in tonight. You've got four hours."

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"Oh, and one more thing," said Mercer. "Don't burn the whole place to the ground. Our important client would be very unhappy if you did."

"Don't worry," Issana said. "It's as good as done."


	13. Smoke on the Water

It was dusk when Issana reached the edge of Lake Honrich outside the city. By the light of the setting sun, she could see her target: three islands about a hundred and fifty yards offshore. On the nearest sat a large manor house. Adjacent to it and connected by a wooden bridge was the island upon which sat the estate's many beehives, and on the other side of both islands sat the third, connected to the mainland by a stone bridge.

And the whole place was crawling with mercenaries.

It was like Aringoth was just _daring_ the Guild to come after him.

Issana shrugged inwardly. _Just makes it more fun._ She waited until the sun had set fully before wading out into the lake. The water was viciously cold. She held her bag of supplies out of the water with one hand as she swam towards the island. It was slow going. Swimming had never been one of her strengths; she and the other orphans had only been able to practice when they snuck out at night, and that was rare. It hadn't been worth the beatings.

She reached the island, hidden from sight by a ring of cliffs. She waded silently onto the shore and set her pack down. Opening it up, she withdrew soft shoes and a set of fitted, warm clothing. She stripped off her wet clothes quickly, hiding them under a bush.

A rustle behind her caused her to reach for the long knife tied to her bag. She turned slowly.

A large, ugly crab stared back at her, pincers raised defensively.

_Sorry,_ she thought. _Am I in your way? I just need the spot for a second._ She hastily dressed, then realized that she'd had an internal conversation with a mudcrab in nothing but her undergarments. She shrugged. _Stranger things have happened._ She belted on her tools, then the knife, then stuffed the empty bag under the same bush as she'd hid her clothes. She tied a covering over her face, pulled her hood up, and gave the mudcrab one last look. _Bet you enjoyed that. Creep._

A silent jump let her grab onto the clifftop. She hauled herself up, peering over the lip before rolling into the grass. Two mercenaries stood by a campfire, talking.

"Why are we still here?" one said. "We haven't seen anybody since that one snoop Skel shot at."

"Who cares? We're still gettin' paid, an' gettin' paid to stan' aroun' is fine by me."

Issana circled them, edging around the back of the house. She stopped once she was out of sight and examined the building. The walls were formed of two layers; the main floor was made of well-cut stone pieces and the upper level was of logs. It wouldn't be hard to climb. Issana jumped for the highest hold she could reach and hung on tightly. The stones were sturdy and provided good footholds as she moved upwards like a spider.

More voices reached her ears from the other side of the house. "I hope that spy comes crawlin' 'round 'ere again," someone said. "My aim could use some more practice."

"Damn right," retorted a second voice. "How could you miss that shot?"

"Not easy shootin' in the dark. You try it."

The voices were growing louder and Issana realized they were circling the house's perimeter. She figured she had maybe thirty seconds before they came around the corner. She reached up for a log and was relieved that the wood was in good enough condition that it didn't give way beneath her grip. She hauled herself up.

Twenty seconds.

She climbed higher.

Ten seconds.

The logs, though better than smooth planks, weren't nearly as easy as the cut stone below. She reached for a grip but there was nothing to hook her fingers onto.

Five seconds.

_Damn it._ Issana took a deep breath and heaved herself as high as she could. Her fingers wrapped around the manor's eaves and with a grunt of triumph she pulled herself onto the roof.

Three mercenaries came around the corner, torches held high to light the way. Issana lay flat, out of sight as the mercenaries went by. Once they'd passed, she rolled onto her stomach and began to crawl, lizard-like, up the shingled roof.

A shuttered window greeted her about halfway up. She gave one shutter an experimental pull but it held firm. _Locked, of course._ Issana chuckled inwardly and drew her knife. Sliding it in between the shutters, she raised it until it hit the latch. A gentle flick was all it needed. Issana held one shutter closed and inched the other one open.

It creaked, but not enough to be heard from down below. Issana slipped in through the window and found herself in the rafters of the upper floor. There was no one around. She closed the window and set the latch again before swinging down and landing cat-like on the floor. The stairs were around the next corner and she crept down them without a sound.

She peered around the doorframe at the bottom. To the left, at the end of the hall a mercenary sat, head bowed in slumber. To the right, a set of stone steps led into the basement. Straight ahead was the dining room, judging by the table and chairs. Issana gave the sleeping man another look to confirm his state, then vanished into the basement.

This time when she looked around the corner she found herself nose-to-back with a burly, iron-clad man. She froze, holding her breath.

_This is a problem._

The man shifted his weight and Issana shrank back a bit. He was helmetless, his bald head a shimmering target for something heavy, but Issana had learned about that the hard way. Whatever people said, there was no easy way to knock somebody out and have them wake up later with nothing more than a bad headache. You either stunned them for an all-too-brief moment or killed them.

Issana felt lucky she'd only done the former. Killing wasn't something on her to-do list.

An idea started forming itself in her mind. Creeping back up the stairs, she looked at the sleeping man at the far end of the hall. If he was sleeping deep enough, this would work without problem. If he wasn't…

She didn't waste time thinking about it. With a quick glance into the dining room to confirm that it was empty, she grabbed a wooden platter from a shelf beside her and tossed it in. It hit the floor with a clatter.

Issana was on the upper staircase again when the big man reached the main floor. He looked around in confusion and walked slowly into the dining room.

By the time he turned around again, curiosity sated, Issana was already in the basement.

It wasn't a very complex layout. A single, stone-walled room held an assortment of storage containers, and there were two smaller rooms leading off of it. One of the doors was already ajar, and through it Issana saw the safe. At a silent run she crossed the room and closed the door behind her before the mercenary had returned to his post. Issana pulled out her lockpicking tools.

The safe was tough, and Issana couldn't help but smile at the lock's complexity. It was nice to have a challenge these days. She worked the pins quickly and quietly with her pick and was eventually rewarded with a satisfying click. The safe swung open.

She was disappointed. There was only a single leaf of parchment and a few stacks of Septims, not even enough to bother bringing back. She tucked the parchment into a waterproof pouch and turned around, pressing an eye to the door's keyhole. The mercenary was still there.

_You, my friend, are turning into a big problem._

Before she could begin thinking of a plan, she heard a voice call from upstairs, "Oi, Varn! Skel's target shooting again and can't hit a thing! Come place some bets!"

The man gave a final look around the room before turning and heading up the steps again. Issana felt her breath ease out. She inched the door open, slipped out and headed back to the main floor. It was abandoned.

Within minutes Issana was back on the roof. She jumped silently onto the ground, rolled to break her fall, and vanished into the water.

The beehives were so easy it was almost insulting. Issana reached the island without incident and scrambled up the sloped bank. A quick glance told her everything she needed to know. The place was lit with torches, but without anyone keeping an eye on things they were nothing more than ammunition.

One, two, three tosses; three beehives went up like bonfires. Issana didn't wait to examine her handiwork. She slid down the slope and into the water, heading straight for the mainland. Even the icy cold did nothing to dampen her sense of triumph as cries of shock erupted from across the estate.

_Another job done. Maybe this'll finally put that smile on Mercer's face we've been waiting for._

She doubted it.


	14. Friends in High Places

Issana lifted her upturned cup slowly and peered at the dice beneath it. "Six fours."

Delvin watched her from across the table, eyes narrowed as he tried to read her expression. Cynric, on her right, glanced at her, then at Delvin, then at Vekel. "Four fives."

"Seven fives," said Delvin.

"Liar!" Vekel pointed an accusing finger at him. "Turn over."

All four of them took their cups off the table and Vekel examined the revealed dice. "I've got no fives, Issana's got two, Cynric has one, and you have… Damn it. Four."

Delvin grinned. "Seven fives, Vekel. Pay up."

Vekel reached into his pocket and pulled out seven coins. He slapped them onto the table in front of Delvin, who scooped them up and tucked them away. "Again."

Everyone brushed their dice into their cups and shook them vigorously before slamming them down on the table. They eyed each other suspiciously before peeking at their dice. Vekel leaned back. "Six fours."

Issana frowned and checked her dice again. "Nine fours."

Cynric stared at her. "No," he said at last. "You're lying."

Issana flipped over her cup, revealing four fours and a three. "Vekel?" she said.

Vekel removed his cup, showing a single four. Issana stared. "What? You said six fours with _that?_"

"Only seven fours!" Cynric exclaimed after he'd counted them. "Your turn to pay up, Issana!"

Issana grumbled in frustration and counted out nine Septims, dropping them into Cynric's palm. She glared at Vekel. "You played me."

Vekel shrugged. "You never could resist a challenge."

Delvin stood up. "Well, that's enough for me." He tossed a few coins towards Vekel. "Here's some of your money back. Get me an ale."

As Vekel followed Delvin, Issana glanced over at Cynric. "Well played. Buy me a drink?"

"Nope."

"Oh, come on. It's my money."

"Not anymore it's not."

"Come on, I bought everybody drinks when I got back from Goldenglow."

"That's because Maven Black-Briar-oh, I mean, _our important client_-pays very well."

Issana stifled a laugh. "Better not let Mercer catch you making fun of him."

"Hah, you think I could actually imitate him? I can't frown nearly hard enough."

Issana kicked his shin under the table. "Speak of the daedra…"

Cynric saw Mercer approaching as well. "And they shall appear."

Mercer stalked up towards them. He looked even grumpier than usual. "Issana."

"What is it?"

"Maven," said Mercer. "She asked for you by name."

Issana blinked. "She did? That's… unusual."

"She had this note sent to me." Mercer stuffed a piece of parchment in Issana's face. "It says nothing except to send you to her." He folded his arms. "I trust you'll inform us afterwards?"

Issana raised her eyebrows. "You think I'd cross Maven? If she wants to keep it a secret, there's nothing I can do about it. But don't worry," she added. "I'll make sure the Guild gets a cut."

"Good," said Mercer. "I'd hurry if I were you. That woman doesn't like to be kept waiting."

* * *

Black-Briar Manor towered over the nearby town. Three levels high, its walls were of elegant, dark wood and were framed with stone. Its roof, pointed and covered with smooth shingles, was adorned with two weathervanes and a finely shaped stone chimney, while the manor's mullioned windows were filled with glass panes that shimmered in the afternoon light. An immaculately kept garden encircled most of the house, split only by a single cobblestone path to the front door. Issana felt uncomfortably small as she raised her hand to knock.

The door swung open to reveal an older man dressed in well-made servant's attire. He frowned.

"Lady Maven's expecting me," Issana said.

The man gestured for her to enter. "I'll take your word for it. Nobody's foolish enough to make that up."

Issana gave a nervous laugh. "Well, it's a good thing I'm not lying, then."

"Yes, it is." The man closed the door without expression and led her towards the back of the house.

Issana couldn't help but stare. Every shelf was lined with expensive decorations, from golden candlesticks to fine ceramic urns and marble statues. Every surface was polished to a shine and every room had ornate, animal skin rugs spread across the floor.

It would a thief's paradise.

Maven Black-Briar stood with her hands clasped behind her back, regal clothing fitted perfectly to her shape, silver jewelry on her fingers and around her neck. Her black hair was tied elegantly back, the streaks of grey accentuating her sharp features instead of showing age. She did not turn.

"So you're the one I keep hearing about," Maven said slowly.

Issana hesitated. "I'm Issana, yes."

Maven unclasped her hands and turned towards her. There was something almost… powerful in the way she moved, and somehow graceful too.

For the first time in four years, Issana was intimidated.

"Well, at least you have the guts to speak to me," Maven said. "That's more than can be said for most people."

"I-uh-"

"Stop stammering," said Maven. "I didn't bring you hear for conversation."

Issana cleared her throat. "Then let's talk business."

"It's about time Brynjolf recruited someone with any degree of skill," Maven said. "I was beginning to think he was running some sort of beggars' guild over there."

"We get the job done."

"No, you get the job done," Maven corrected. "You and a handful of other names I hear once in awhile. Delwag, Dalvid, Delm-"

"Delvin."

"Whatever. You, him, and that silver-tongued whatever-his-name-is who keeps trying to charm me. Three of you keeping that rats' nest of a guild running."

"We're having some hard times, yes-"

"I don't want excuses, I want results," Maven said. "And I expect you to give them to me. Do I make myself clear?"

"Abundantly."

"Good," said Maven. "Then head to Whiterun. There's an inn called the Bannered Mare. You'll find a contact named Mallus Maccius-"

"White-wait-Whiterun?" Issana said incredulously. "That's three hundred miles away."

"I own several maps, girl. I don't need a geography lesson."

"I-" She wanted to say _not a chance_, but nobody got to say that to Maven Black-Briar. "I… That's weeks of travel."

Maven stared at her, unblinking.

_Damn you._ "I'll do it."

"Excellent."

"But," Issana said, "I'll need to be paid. Up front. Half."

Maven's brow twitched. "Are you bartering with me?"

Issana chose her words carefully. "I can't afford to travel that far. If you want the job done, you'll need to cover some of the expenses."

Maven regarded her with shrewd eyes. "Carrus!" she said suddenly. She snapped her fingers and the servant scuttled into the room. "Yes, Lady Maven?"

"Go down to the vault and bring me one of the bags on the left."

"At once, Milady."

Maven returned her stare to Issana. "You'll have your payment. Half now and half when the job is done."

Carrius returned a moment later with a bag about six inches in diameter. Maven grabbed it and tossed it to Issana. "That should get you there and back."

Issana's arm sank under the weight, and she opened up the bag to look inside. Red and green gemstones sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the window.

"You're lucky that your reputation precedes you, thief," said Maven. "Otherwise you'd have only my instructions, and not my wealth, to take with you."

"Lucky indeed," Issana agreed. "I'll find Mallus and get the job done."

"See to it that you do," said Maven. "I do not tolerate failure."

"Don't worry."

"Oh, I'm not," Maven said with a smile. "I never worry. And if you get the job done right, you won't have to either."


	15. Partners in Crime

Issana slammed her tankard back onto the Ragged Flagon's bar. "Who does she think she is? Sending me all the way to Whiterun for a job she won't even tell me about. It's ridiculous!"

"At least she's paying you," said Vekel, refilling the mug. "She could have just told you to go."

Issana sighed. "Well, yes. There is that. But still! Whiterun! That's a whole other hold of Skyrim!"

"Oh, I didn't say I envied you," said Vekel. "I was just making a point."

"You're not helping." She drained the tankard and thrust it at him. "Fill 'er up."

"Don't you have preparations to make?"

"I'm not leaving until the end of the week."

Vekel shrugged. "Suit yourself. The more you drink the more I earn."

"Shut up."

Brynjolf dropped into the seat beside her and motioned for Vekel to fill a cup for him. "So, Whiterun, eh? Moving up in the world."

"Right, because a two week journey is a real privilege."

"Maven asked for you by name. That's a good thing, lass. For all of us."

"Forgive me if I'm not exactly excited about the whole thing."

Brynjolf took a drink. "Lass, Maven's _impressed_. That's something I haven't seen in years. You pulled off the Goldenglow job without a hitch. Keep this up and you'll make us all rich."

"Ugh, I know, I know." She frowned into her empty tankard. "What am I supposed to do for two weeks? Think? I'll be so pent up that when I get to Whiterun I'll break into every single house in the city!"

"Just make sure you get Maven's job done first, lass. She won't be too happy if you get yourself locked up because of some foolish stunt."

Issana slouched forwards so her chin was resting in her palm. She sighed loudly. "I guess I should probably start thinking about supplies. Does anybody have a map?"

"Mercer does," Brynjolf said. "You can probably borrow it if you ask nicely."

"Oooh, good, being nice. That sounds like so much fun right now."

"You could try just taking it. I'm curious what he'd do." Cynric had appeared out of nowhere, a huge, mock scowl plastered across his face. "How dare you steal from the Guild Master? I'll see you dumped in the canals! Dirge! Deal with this insubordinate wench!"

"What does Mercer do around here, anyway?" said Issana as she tipped her mug back.

"Good question," said Mercer's voice behind her. Issana choked and sprayed the ale back into her tankard.

"What do I do?" Mercer continued. "Maybe nothing. Maybe I just stand around and take a cut of the profits. Or maybe I'm the one that keeps this whole damn Guild running smoothly. I make sure your jobs don't collide. I keep Maven from breathing down your necks. But most of all, I buy off the right people to ensure the guards aren't about to storm the Ratway and butcher every last one of you."

Issana set her mug down carefully. "Well… I think that's my cue to, uh, go."

"I think it is," said Mercer.

There was silence in the Flagon as Issana slunk away. She passed Niruin on her way to the cistern. "Oh, dear," said the elf. "What have you done this time?"

"I'm sure you'll hear about it," she said as she walked past.

She reached the door to the cistern and opened it. Rune looked up from a chair as she entered. "Problem?"

She shook her head. "Not really, just opened my mouth without thinking. Mercer's not happy. Though in my defence, everyone was thinking it."

"What did you say?" Rune said as he rose from his seat.

"I wondered what Mercer really does around here."

Rune hid his laughter with a cough. "Sorry. Had something in my throat. He's angry?"

"No more than usual. I'm heading topside to pick up some supplies while he cools off."

Rune fell into step beside her. "That's right, I heard! Whiterun. Big trip."

"I'm aware of that."

"Could be good for you. Clear your head a bit. I don't know about you, but there's only so much of Riften I can stomach at a time."

"Mmm, right, because nothing sounds more exciting to me than wandering in the wilderness for two weeks."

"I'll come with you."

Issana stopped and faced him. "Why on earth would you want to go to Whiterun?"

"It's one of the biggest trade centres in Skyrim," said Rune. "There are always merchants bound for every hold. I need to find someone who can take a letter and some money back to my father in Solitude."

Issana started walking again. "You're such a baby."

"Just because you're a heartless bitch doesn't mean the rest of us are," laughed Rune. "Let me come with you."

"Fine," Issana said. She whirled around and pointed a finger at him. "But only because I'll go crazy without someone to talk to for two weeks."

"Hah, you need my help anyway."

"I do, do I?"

Rune snorted. "I've seen you try to start a fire. But no, if you'd rather freeze in the rain, go ahead."

"You're a nuisance, you know that? A big nuisance."

"So you've said. Let's go grab some supplies."


	16. Edge of the Past

It just _had_ to start raining on the day they left.

Issana really wished there was someone she could blame. Unfortunately, the weather was just the weather, and it wasn't really a surprise either. This was the Rift, after all. People said it rained for half the year, and the rest of the year it was about to.

Exaggeration or not, today was very, very wet.

Issana blew water from the rim of her hood before it could drip onto her nose. She had a cloak wrapped tight about her to ward off the wind, but the wetness kept finding a way down inside, running down her neck or into her boots. The air was icy cold, too; her breath clouded in front of her every time she exhaled.

"You really had to choose today, didn't you?" said Rune. "Not yesterday, not tomorrow, today."

"You wanted to come," she retorted. "Got to send that letter to your dear old dad. How do you even know he's still in Solitude? You haven't seen him in years."

"He's a fisherman," Rune said. "Where else would he go? He never had any intention of leaving when I was still around, and I know he wouldn't have changed his mind."

Thunder rolled through the forest and Rune glanced up at the sky. "Weather's getting worse."

"I noticed."

Rune laughed. "You really are unpleasant when you're unhappy, you know?"

"Get used to it," said Issana. "I'm going to be unhappy until we get back to Riften and I can drink away all of my hard-earned coin."

"Do I get a cut for keeping you company?"

"No. You can pick some pockets in Whiterun if it makes you happy."

"That's the plan. Trade centre, remember? Lots of heavy pockets."

"Meanwhile I get to be hunting down this Mallus what's-his-name and finding out what I'm supposed to be doing." Issana kicked a rock along the road. "I hate Maven."

"Doesn't everyone?" Rune said. "Pays well, though."

"That's about the only thing keeping me going in this weather."

Rune snorted. "And the fact that if you turn around, Maven'll find out and have you killed."

"That too."

The rain continued to pour down as Riften faded away behind them. The road wound its way westward along the shores of Lake Honrich, a heavy mist nestled in comfortably over the water. Issana gave the lake a passing glance, wondering if she could see Goldenglow Estate through the fog, but it was hidden.

They stopped for the night on the outskirts of a small farming village. where four or five houses were surrounded by a ramshackle wooden fence that had certainly seen better days. They made camp beneath the overhang of a low cliff that was angled sharply enough to keep the rain out. Rune had a fire going shortly.

"That's better," he said, shedding his dripping cloak and kicking off his boots. He set them by the fire to dry.

Issana removed her cloak gingerly and tried to keep the water from getting into her clothes. She was unsuccessful. "See, this is why no one travels in the Rift," she said. "It's wet, it's cold, and there's nothing you can do about it." She squeezed her braid over the campfire to get the water out.

Rune lay back with his arms behind his head. "A little rain never hurt anyone."

"A little rain? This is what you call a little rain?"

"At least it's not snowing."

Issana sat back against the rock wall of their shelter. "It wouldn't be so wet."

"Yes, it would," Rune said with a laugh. "Snow gets inside your shirt, your boots, and then it melts. Have you ever had freezing water pooling in your trousers?"

"I do right now," said Issana, shifting uncomfortably towards to the fire.

"You'll live."

Issana glared at him. "Of course I'll live. But I could be living in comfort in Riften. I have a bed, shelter, and people who will leave me alone…"

"Nice try," said Rune. "But you told me to come so you wouldn't go crazy talking to yourself."

"I know, I know."

"Is complaining your way of not going crazy?"

"Yes."

Rune shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Issana shifted in discomfort at the dampness in her clothes. At least the fire was helping.

Rune glanced up at her. "It doesn't bother you when I talk about my father, does it?"

Issana frowned. "Why would it?"

"I don't know. He adopted me, and you never really had anyone…"

"So?"

Rune looked away and watched the fire instead. "I just wanted to make sure. I know it's not easy not knowing your real parents, but at least I had-"

"Just let it go, all right?"

Issana was momentarily surprised by the sharpness in her own tone. Rune looked startled. "All right, sure," he said. "Sorry."

Issana ignored him and lay down on her side, facing away from him. There was a confusion in her mind that she didn't know what to do with. She didn't even really know what it was. She sighed.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Issana said. "Go to sleep. We've got a long way to go tomorrow."

* * *

The rain showed no sign of letting up the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. Issana was starting to feel like she'd been wet ever since they left Riften. Lake Honrich was far behind them now; in its place was a wide river that wound its way north and west with the road following beside it. They passed few other people. Sometimes a patrol of Rift soldiers would happen past, greeting them with a curt nod of the head, and other times it was a group of farmers heading to a nearby village with carts, but for the most part they were quite alone.

On the fifth day, the rain finally stopped and the faintest rays of sunlight began to pierce through the clouds. Issana threw back her hood and stared up at the brightening sky. "Finally!"

"We must be nearing the edge of the Rift," said Rune. "We're probably only a couple days out from Ivarstead."

"You know what that means?" said Issana. "It means we're still a couple of days short of halfway."

Rune shook his head in mock despair. "Always a bundle of optimism, aren't you?"

Issana hop-skipped and kicked a pebble as far ahead as she could. "I wish I was asleep in my bed."

"You might find life a little more enjoyable if you found more things to like about it."

Issana snorted. "Ooh, look at that beautiful flower! And listen to the rumble of the river! Ah, how lovely to finally be experiencing Skyrim's beautiful wilderness!"

"Now you're ruining it for me, too."

"Misery loves company."

Rune gave her a playful shove. "That should be your name. Misery Hastratus. Got a bit of a ring to it."

"Sounds perfect."

"Where did you get your name, anyway?" Rune asked. "I've been wondering that for awhile, actually. Was it in a note when you were left at Honorhall?"

Issana shrugged. "That's what I was told."

"Sounds Cyrodiilic."

"I'm sure it is. There are a lot of Imperials in the southern holds."

"Do you ever wonder who they were?" said Rune. "Your parents, I mean."

Issana looked over at him. "No, I don't."

"Why not?"

"What difference would it make? I wouldn't know where they went or why they abandoned-" She hesitated and corrected herself. "Why they left me."

Rune gave her a glance that said he was reading far too much into her words. "Sometimes I think it would just be nice to know," he said. "I mean, you know how much time and effort I put into finding out who my family was. It's why I left my adoptive father in the first place. Not that it ever amounted to anything."

"Do you miss him?"

"Sometimes I do." Rune looked towards the northwestern horizon. "We had our differences, sure. But he was still my father. He saved my life."

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The road curved northwards and the trees began to thin as the ground grew rockier. "Look," said Rune, pointing towards the northern horizon. "See that? It's the edge of the plateau. Once we get there it's only a day's walk to Ivarstead, where we'll find an inn, a warm hearth, hot food, and anything you want to drink."

"Good," said Issana. "Let's hurry it up a bit, then." She couldn't really tell what Rune was pointing at; it just seemed like nothing. But she took his word for it.

She found out exactly what it was the following afternoon. The reason it had looked like nothing was because there truly was absolutely nothing there. The ground simply fell away, a steep, rocky slope in its place before it leveled out again a few hundred feet below. The road became a treacherous path back and forth, snaking its way carefully down the jagged incline.

"Would you look at that," Rune breathed in awe.

On the northwestern horizon, rising like a jagged bone of Nirn itself, so wide and vast beyond anything Issana had ever imagined, was a mountain. Its snow-white slopes soared into the clouds above and dwarfed the surrounding landscape.

"The Throat of the World," Rune murmured. "I'd heard the legends. But I never expected something like this."

Even Issana couldn't help but stare in wonder. "I never thought…"

"I'd say that's worth the journey. Would you?"

Issana's gaze traced up the mountain's slope and into the heavens. "I don't know what to say."

Rune shifted his pack and started down the steep path. "Well, you'll have days to come up with something. We'll be able to see it for a long time before we get to Whiterun."

Issana didn't follow him right away. Her eyes lingered on the mountain, searching, though she didn't know what for.

"You coming?"

Issana broke from her reverie. "I-yes. Of course." She gave the mountain a final look. The feeling was gone. She shook herself, then followed Rune down the slope.


	17. Honningbrew

Ivarstead seemed like an insect clinging to the mountain's base. The Throat of the World soared away above the town's low rooftops while its base spread as far as the eye could see. Issana could hardly even bring herself to stare up at it; the sheer size made her head spin.

It was early afternoon as they reached Ivarstead's homely little inn. A man sat on the front porch, leaning back in a chair with his eyes mostly closed. His beard was beginning to grey and his face looked weathered.

His eyes opened as they stepped towards the door. "Ho there, travellers! What brings you to Ivarstead?"

Issana and Rune glanced at each other before Rune answered. "Passing through on our way to Whiterun."

"Whiterun?" said the man, scratching his bald head. "That's quite a journey."

Issana snorted. "I know."

"Well," the man said, "allow me to give you a personal welcome. My name is Klimmek. I'm a fisherman down on the river."

"Glad to meet you," said Rune. Issana nodded in agreement.

Klimmek rose. "I'd better get back to work. And welcome, again." He strode away.

Issana reached for the door and looked at Rune. "Do people seem friendlier outside of Riften to you?"

"Maybe it's because people outside Riften don't have to constantly watch their pockets."

The interior of the inn was lit by a long hearth in the centre of the room. Tables lay around the perimeter, and at the far end was a bar with a man leaning on it. He glanced up at them as they entered. "Welcome to Vilemyr Inn, travellers. If there's anything I can get you, just let me know."

Issana let her pack slide heavily off of one shoulder to where it hit the ground with a thump. "Comfort, at last." She dragged her pack towards the bar. "Do you know how unpleasant it is, sleeping outside for a week?"

The innkeeper gave a light chuckle. "In from Riften, then? We don't get many visitors through here, unless they're headed up to High Hrothgar."

Issana collapsed onto a stool. "Mead, if you have it. Otherwise beer. What's High Hrothgar?"

Rune joined her. "You've never heard of High Hrothgar? The Greybeards?"

"No." She reached for the bottle of mead the innkeeper had placed in front of her. "It may have escaped you, but I didn't exactly have a story-filled childhood."

"I didn't mean it like that," said Rune. "It's just that… well, everyone knows about it. I thought you would have heard something over the years."

Issana drank deeply. "That's good stuff. You want some? I'll buy."

"If you're buying, sure." Rune gestured for the innkeeper to get him a bottle as well. "High Hrothgar is…" He looked at the innkeeper. "Actually, you can probably say better than I can."

The innkeeper shrugged. "It's a monastery, I suppose. Home of the Greybeards."

"Who are they?"

"I'm not rightly sure," said the innkeeper. "I've never met one. It's said that they have mighty voices which they use to praise the goddess Kynareth. Or at least it's something like that. No one really knows for sure." He leaned an elbow on the bar. "But High Hrothgar, that's where they live. Up at the top of the Seven Thousand Steps."

Issana raised her eyebrows. "That's a long way up."

"Not really," laughed the innkeeper. "Not compared to the mountain itself. I don't think anyone has ever made it to the top. At least, not outside of legends."

"But people come through here? To head to High Hrothgar?"

The innkeeper nodded. "It's a pilgrimage of sorts. Some people find the climb a good time to reflect."

"Well," Issana said, raising her bottle, "here's how I reflect." She drained the rest of the mead and thumped it down on the bar. "Another."

The barkeeper obliged, happily scooping Issana's coins off the counter. "Since you're not headed to High Hrothgar," he said, "might I ask where you're bound instead?"

"Whiterun," said Issana. "Damn, this mead is good. Where's it from? It's nothing like Black-Briar."

"No, it's from a smaller meadery," said the innkeeper. "Near Whiterun, funnily enough. I bring a few shipments of it in every once in awhile. Honningbrew, it's called."

Issana took another swig. "I might have to stop in there, bring a few bottles back to Riften."

Rune snorted. "Hah. It'd be gone within three days."

"Depends how much I got."

The innkeeper laughed. "Well, I'll let you two be for awhile, maybe sweep a bit before the evening crowd. If you need anything, my name's Wilhelm. Just shout for me."

Rune watched as Issana drained the second bottle. He chuckled and shook his head. "If you're done, we should probably replenish our supplies. There aren't many villages between here and Whiterun, so we'll need to be stocked up for a few days at least."

Issana groaned. "Right… We're still only halfway." She gave the two empty bottles a dejected look. "Fine. Let's go."

They returned to the inn just after sundown, packs restocked with rations. It was busier now; there were maybe a dozen people at the various tables and a bard was playing a slow, beautiful melody on her lute. Issana sat down at an empty table in the corner and Rune took the chair opposite her. Wilhelm appeared beside them. "More Honningbrew?"

Issana grinned. "You know me already."

"Maybe I should bring you each a few bottles."

Issana nodded approvingly. "What an excellent idea. Four each." She counted out the coins and winked at Rune. "To start."

"We do have to walk tomorrow, you know," Rune said.

"And if my head hurts bad enough, I won't notice my feet."

"Fair enough."

Wilhelm returned with the bottles and set them on the table. "Enjoy. Just shout if you need anything."

Rune drank deeply. "Ah, it's good to be off my feet."

"Hear, hear!" said Issana, raising her bottle. "We should spend a few days in Whiterun once this is over, just relax for awhile."

Rune snorted. "Easy for you to say. With Maven employing you, you've got more money right now than most of the guild combined."

"Well, you know what they say. If you want it done right, pay for the best."

"You really are shameless."

"Being humble is boring."

Rune laughed. "Not everyone has a choice." He finished off the first bottle and put it down gently. "So, Great Thief, what's the best heist you've pulled?"

"The one that made us richest or the one that I enjoyed the most?"

"Aren't they the same thing to you?"

"Hah, not anymore. This one's paying the best but it's certainly not my idea of fun."

Rune laughed. "You don't even know what the job is yet. And you get to spend a month with me. I'm fun."

"No, Thrynn is fun. It's like watching a big, dumb dog getting a treat every time Mercer tells him to go hit somebody." She finished her bottle. "A big, smelly dog."

"All right, so what job did you enjoy the most?"

Issana leaned her chair back on two legs thoughtfully. "Hmm. Actually, I think the most fun I ever had was just picking pockets in the market. Did you ever see that bosmer-oh, what was her name… Nivenor. The one with all the expensive clothing and jewelry?"

Rune smiled knowingly and laughed. "How could I forget her?" His voice took on a high, mocking tone. "_If the poor are that hungry, why don't they just grow food or something?_"

"Did she really say that?" Issana laughed.

"Heard her myself."

Issana shook her head in mock despair. "Some people. Still, she was at least good for some amusement. _Bolli! Bolli! Some beggar has made off with my necklace again! Bolli! Bolli! Bolli!_"

Rune smiled at her for a moment. She frowned. "What?"

"You know I didn't mean it when I called you a heartless bitch, right?"

"What?"

Rune set his mead down. "Before we left."

"No, I know. What do you mean you didn't mean it?"

"You're not."

Issana burst out laughing. "Rune, I'm a professional thief. I steal from people for money. Damn right I'm a heartless bitch."

"I don't think you are."

"Yeah, well, you're missing something then." Issana drained her second bottle.

Rune leaned forwards and shook his head. "No, really. You're not. You do what you have to do to survive. It's no different from anybody else. We just got dealt worse hands in life than the rest of the world."

"Right," Issana laughed. "We're worse off. I think I made more money on this job than this inn will make in a year."

"I don't mean _now_," Rune said. "But it's what set us on this path in the first place. My family was poor, so I had to learn how to steal to survive. My father didn't like it, but at least we were fed. And you had nothing when you got booted out of the orphanage. What else were you going to do?"

"Rune," Issana said. "It's all right. I'm not arguing. But I know what I am, and whatever reasons I had when I made the choices I did doesn't change it."

Rune sat back and began a third bottle. "Do you ever think about getting out?"

"What, leaving the Guild?"

"Well, no, not exactly," Rune said. "I don't know. I guess just, you know, finding a job that isn't going to land you in prison one day."

"What job could I ever do besides this?" said Issana. "What skills do I have that would ever let me live an ordinary life?"

Rune smiled. "I don't think you'd ever have an ordinary life."

"Well, no, not with my history."

Rune laughed. "That's not what I meant. It's just… You're the least ordinary woman I've ever met."

"Hah, that's me. The unordinary orphan."

"You know that's not what I meant."

Issana set her mead down. "So what did you mean?"

Rune hesitated for a moment. "When I first met you four years ago, I knew you were something special. You were tough, clever, had a sense of humor..."

"Hear, hear."

"See what I mean?" said Rune. "And you've just… I don't know. Become more than that since then. We've always been friends, but the more I see you the more I wish… The more I wish that we could be more than that."

Issana was suddenly very grateful she'd set her mead down when she did, or she would have dropped it. "I…" she began. "I don't know what to say. I didn't know you felt that way."

Rune leaned towards her. "Now you do. What do you say?"

Issana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry, Rune. You've always been my friend and you always will be. I just… I don't think I can be anything more than that for you."

Rune nodded slowly. "All right. I appreciate the honesty." He glanced over his shoulder. "Where did Wilhelm get to? I think I'm going to turn in for the night." He got to his feet. "Thanks for the mead."

Issana watched him go. "Rune, wait."

Rune slowed and turned to face her again. Issana suddenly realized she hadn't thought of anything to say. "See you tomorrow."

Rune nodded and walked away. When he was gone, Issana's chin sank down into her palm. She let out a heavy sigh and stared at the three remaining bottles of mead. "Well done, Issana," she muttered. "Well done." She grabbed Rune's last bottle and added it to her own before looking around for Wilhelm.

It was going to be a long night.


	18. Whiterun

Issana's head hurt far worse than she thought it would when she woke up the next morning. Her throat was parched and her body seemed to cry out in protest when she attempted to rise from bed. _Damn. How much did I drink?_ She counted on her fingers. Two with Rune, then three more when he'd left, and then she'd called Wilhelm over… Things were a bit hazier after that.

She massaged her head gently and got up. The door to her room swung open as she leaned unsteadily against it and fumbled with the knob. Wilhelm looked up from his sweeping. "Well, well, look who it is. Surprised you're able to stand at all."

Issana shut her eyes against the bright light coming through the windows. "Believe me, I wish I was lying down. Where's Rune?"

"He left about an hour ago. Should be back soon."

_Rune._ Issana winced at the memory of last night. "Did he seem all right?"

Wilhelm looked confused. "Looked fine to me. Why? Did something happen?"

Issana nodded.

Wilhelm shrugged and returned to his sweeping. "Seemed fine to me. He was up early, had some breakfast and then went out for a morning walk while he waited for you. What-" He froze. "Oh! I see."

Issana's brows shot up. "No. No-no-no-no. _That_ did not happen."

Wilhelm raised his hands placatingly. "It's all right. I won't mention it-"

"No!" Issana exclaimed. "Just-no! That didn't happen, all right? Gods!"

Wilhelm hastily returned his attention to the floor. "I'm sorry. I misunderstood."

"Just a little bit," Issana muttered.

The door to the inn swung open and Rune stepped inside. "You're up! It's about time."

Issana blinked at the light coming through the doorway and shaded her eyes. "Excuse me while I crawl back into bed and die there."

"Oh, no you don't," said Rune. "We're leaving today. You said it yourself. So go get ready to go and meet me outside."

Her headache hadn't lessened at all by the time she dragged herself out the door. Rune was waiting for her, sitting on boulder at the side of the road. "Ready?"

Issana tried to block out the sun with one hand. "I feel awful."

"I'll bet. Wilhelm told me how much you drank."

"I don't really want to think about that right now, if that's all right with you."

Rune rose and shouldered his pack. "You ready to go?"

"No."

"That's what I thought. Come on." He strode quickly and confidently away. Issana groaned but hoisted her pack up anyway and followed him.

It took four days to round the Throat of the World. The great mountain was separated from the northern half of the range by a wide gap, through which the White River wound its way north and east towards the ocean. Caravans and merchants with carts passed them frequently on the road; there were few paths between Skyrim's east and western halves, and this was certainly the safest.

"Maven didn't give you any indication what the job was going to be?"

Issana snorted. "No. She just told me to meet someone named Mallus Maccius in Whiterun."

"Do you have any guesses?"

"Yes, and they're all equally ridiculous."

It was six days out from Ivarstead that Issana finally saw Whiterun. It rose from the great plains upon a hill, its walls vast and the great keep of Dragonsreach shining in the evening sun. Issana felt her spirits soar-in a bitter, frustrated sort of way. "There it is," she said. "Finally."

"You didn't enjoy the trip?" Rune said with an insolent grin. "Two weeks of sleeping on the hard ground and carrying packs isn't your idea of fun? Never would have guessed."

"If you keep making fun of me, I'll leave you here."

"Nah, you enjoy my company too much."

Issana gave a little smile. Things didn't seem to have changed at all since their conversation in Ivarstead, and she was extremely grateful for it.

Rune picked up the pace. "Come on. We can make it there just after sunset if we hurry."

"And then an inn, a fire, something to drink, some hot food…" Issana sighed wistfully.

"And you get to find out what Maven sent you all this way for."

"That too." Issana gave the distant walls of Whiterun another look. "You know, I'm starting to think this is just her way of showing she's still the boss. Like this is just going to be some pathetic, joke of a job that's her way of telling the Guild she still owns them."

"Does it matter?" laughed Rune. "You still got paid. And you got an excuse to see beyond the Rift."

Issana looked over her shoulder towards the Throat of the World. Whatever that sense she'd had had seemed to wax and wane as the days passed. Sometimes she felt nothing, other times she felt…

She sighed in frustration. She didn't know what she felt.

The road took them through a collection of large farms and houses as it meandered slowly up towards Whiterun's gates. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon and it lit up the western sky ahead of them with crimson fire.

A deafening bellow thundered across the landscape. Issana looked around wildly as someone screamed. Issana leaped into a run, sprinting up the road towards the source of the noise.

Her jaw dropped as she rounded a corner. A monstrous man was lumbering through the cabbage field, absolutely enormous, maybe twelve or even fifteen feet high. His club was more like a young tree he'd uprooted than a weapon, and with a bestial roar he swung it over his head and slammed it into the ground.

A woman ran into the nearby farmhouse, screaming for help. Issana was still too stunned by the sight to move when three figures charged past her. A woman with warpaint streaking her face let an arrow fly but the giant hardly seemed to notice. It bellowed again and swung its club, forcing the two swordsmen to dive aside as the club burrowed into the ground.

They were on the giant in an instant. Steel flashed red in the sunset and the giant bellowed in agony. It hit the ground with a roar and bellowed as the swordsmen sprang at it, swords raised high.

And then there was silence. The three fighters lowered their weapons.

The painted woman turned towards Issana. "Well," she said, "that's taken care of. No thanks to you."

Issana frowned in confusion and glanced over her shoulder to see if the archer was talking to somebody else. "Me?"

"You see anyone else around?"

Issana raised her eyebrows. "You think-you think I should have helped?" She stared at the woman incredulously. "Do I look like I have a weapon?"

The two swordsmen appeared beside them. One was a burly man who had an unusual, almost wolflike hunger in his eyes, and the other was a shorter woman with dark hair. She was cleaning her sword. "Come now, Aela," she said. "If everyone in Skyrim wanted to fight, there wouldn't be much need for us, would there?"

"Ah," said Issana. "You're mercenaries."

Aela shot her a dirty look. "The Companions are not mercenaries. We trace our lineage back to Ysgramor himself, and we-"

"Shield-sister." The swordsman placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let it go. We should return to Jorrvaskr."

Issana hadn't noticed Rune coming up beside her as the three mercenaries turned back towards the city. He chuckled. "You really have a way with people, don't you?"

"What in Oblivion did I do?" Issana retorted. "How-not to mention why-am I supposed to take on something like that?" She pointed at the gigantic corpse.

"You don't need to convince me," said Rune. He gave the blood-stained body a quick look from where he stood. "Strange, giants don't usually come near villages."

"Who cares? I just want to get to the inn, preferably without getting yelled at by somebody else." She started up the road again. "There'll be plenty of yelling from Maven if I don't get this done soon."

"Or just a quick knife through the back," Rune added.

"Or that." Issana grunted in frustration. "This job had better be worth it."


	19. Mallus Maccius

"You have got to be joking."

Mallus Maccius was a thin, sallow-skinned man with greasy black hair and a permanent scowl on his face. He was leaning forwards across the table in the Bannered Mare, expectantly awaiting her response. "What?" he said, momentarily taken aback.

Issana was staring at him, an expression of disbelief on her face. "Maven sent me all the way out here for _that?_"

"I don't follow."

"Let me get this straight," Issana said, making no attempt to conceal her contempt. "You want me to do some pest control, then steal a few documents _that you already have access to?_"

"Well, no," said Mallus. "I don't really have access to them. Sabjorn keeps the key on him at all times-"

"So hit him over the head!" Issana said, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "Why in Oblivion do you need a professional thief to lay out some rat poison-"

"Skeever," Mallus corrected.

"I know what a bloody skeever is," Issana snapped. "Why do you need me-why would Maven _pay_ for me to come out here, poison a few skeevers and steal a couple of documents when you could do all that yourself?"

"I don't like your tone, girl," growled Mallus.

"And I don't like you. So you'd better work hard to justify this job to me or I'm going to take it up with Maven."

Mallus frowned. "It was Maven's idea in the first place."

"No, Maven is smarter than this. Let me guess. You told Maven you had a brilliant plan to acquire Honningbrew Meadery and she trusted you enough to send you the best?"

"Does it matter? Now you're here. So let's follow through with the plan, shall we?"

Issana sighed. "You are so lucky I've already been paid. So just to make sure I understand how inane your plan is: you want me to pass myself off as someone Sabjorn might hire to deal with his skeever problem, poison the mead he's going to be presenting at a tasting you'll be organizing, and while I'm at it, break into his room and steal a few pieces of parchment?"

"Yes."

"Good, it's as dumb as I thought. You-" She stopped. "Wait a second… That's not what this is really about, is it?"

"What?"

"You work for Sabjorn, correct? Which means you'll take over when he gets arrested. You want me to get hired by Sabjorn to deal with the skeevers so that it doesn't come out of _your_ pocket when you take over. Poisoning the mead is your way of getting him out of the way, so it's just a bonus that you can get me to do that as well. And I suppose the documents are your way of thanking Maven for sending me your way."

Mallus stared at her in surprised silence, blinking like a confused owl. "Maven said she'd send the best she could find, but _damn,_ you're good."

Issana rolled her eyes and rose from the chair. "Three things before I go."

"What do you need?"

"One, you're an idiot. Two, damn Maven for getting me involved in this. Three…" She sighed. "What documents am I looking for?"


	20. Second Thoughts

Issana spent the morning lounging at the inn, munching on the various foods that the innkeeper had available. A bard played the lute by the inn's central hearth, though he seemed to be practicing to himself rather than performing since there were so few people around. He glanced over at her and winked.

Issana gave him a look that said _not a chance_ and returned to the sliced cheese in front of her. Rune had gone his own way that morning, looking for a merchant bound for Solitude. Issana knew she probably should have been getting ready Mallus' dimwitted scheme, but she really just didn't feel like it at that moment.

She was startled when the bard dropped himself into the seat across from her. He smiled at her, but it was a smile so blatantly charming that she knew he'd practiced.

"Can I help you?" she said.

"Actually, I was hoping I could help you. My name is Mikael. You're new around here, aren't you?"

Issana raised an eyebrow. "I'm really not interested."

Mikael grinned. "Come on, let me show you around the city. You won't regret it."

"Oh, I'm almost certain I would," said Issana. "Go practice your lute. Gods know you could use it."

"Fair nightingale has talons," said Mikael with a roguish wink. "But it'll take more than a few scratches to chase off Mikael."

"Maybe I should aim for your eyes."

Mikael frowned. "You really don't want me around?"

Issana stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Uh-"

"Shoo!"

Mikael scrambled out of the chair, looking confounded. He gave her once last confused glance before returning to his original position by the fire. Issana grabbed the rest of her cheese and left the inn.

The marketplace air was warm and refreshing, nothing like the dirty, old fish smell that permeated Riften. Colored stalls stood in a wide circle around a central well, and there were dozens of people milling about. Issana wandered over to the nearest stall, covered with fresh fruits and vegetables. The apples were bright and juicy-looking and Issana gave a quick look around. The stall's owner, a tall, brown-haired woman, was busy talking to someone and none of the passers-by seemed to notice her. She reached for an apple.

"It may not earn much," the shopkeeper was saying, "but I do what I have to to make ends meet. It's the only way I can keep my daughter fed."

Issana stopped. _Damn it_. It was only one apple, something that would never be noticed or missed, but something about it just didn't feel right. Maybe it was the fact that this woman was determined to provide for her daughter no matter what, something she'd never had, or maybe it was just one of those odd little moments of guilt that popped up about once a year.

"How much for an apple?" she asked. The woman turned, startled. "A Septim, or three septims'll get you five."

"Just the one, thanks." Issana handed over a coin. "How's business?"

"Oh, you know," said the woman. "No worse than usual. Just wish I could get Mikael off my back for five minutes. Do you know how many times I've told that man that I'm not interested?"

Issana smiled. "I can imagine."

"You too?"

"About five minutes ago."

The shopkeeper grunted with disgust. "He's begging for a dagger up against his throat, the way he goes on about me. I heard him yesterday, boasting how he'll 'conquer me as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast.'"

Issana raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "I might have a word with him, then."

"Hah, I'd like to see that. I'd come with you, but I have to mind my stall."

Issana tossed her the apple. "Hold onto that. I'll be back."

She reentered the Bannered Mare and saw Mikael practicing his lute by the fire where she'd left him. He looked up and smiled that repulsive smile of his. "Changed your mind?"

"No, you might have to-oh, how did you put it?-conquer me like a true Nord."

Mikael's smirk vanished. "Been talking to Carlotta, have you? She's a stubborn one, but I'll win her over in the end. Just you wait."

"How about leaving her alone?" said Issana.

Mikael laughed. "What are you going to do about it? Although, if you're planning on sticking around in Whiterun for awhile, I could always use a distraction."

Issana's fist connected with his jaw and sent him sprawling. Issana planted a foot on his chest and stared down at him. "You take that tone with me again and I'll hit you somewhere else. Understand? And stay away from Carlotta."

Mikael's confidence had evaporated into fear. "All right! I'm sorry! Please, don't hit me again!"

Issana ground her boot against his collarbone, drawing a squeal of pain from him. "Good." She stepped off and made for the door.

Behind her, she heard the innkeeper starting to clap.

In the marketplace again, she gave Carlotta a smile and caught her apple as it was tossed back. "I don't think he'll be bothering you anymore."

Carlotta looked relieved. "What did you say?"

Issana massaged her fist. "There weren't a lot of words."

"Oh! Well, I-thank you! I've been wanting to do that for awhile, but I wasn't sure what he'd do. Thank you for dealing with him."

"I don't mind knocking people like him down a notch."

"Or onto the floor, it seems," said Carlotta. "Thanks again."

Issana nodded in acknowledgement and turned away. As much as she wished she could put off the Honningbrew job indefinitely, Maven certainly wouldn't approve of being kept waiting. And she'd wasted enough time already. There was a cave of skeevers to deal with.

_Damn you, Maven_. Issana kicked a pebble unhappily and headed towards the city gates.


	21. Pest Control

Sabjorn was an ugly, corpulent man with a bald head and beady eyes that seemed to narrow at everything around him. He spoke with a slow, almost sly cadence as if he was trying to keep his thick jowls from quivering with each word. "What are you gawking at?" he demanded as Issana surveyed the room.

She crossed her arms and gave him an arrogant stare. "I heard you're looking for some help."

Sabjorn leaned his bulging gut onto Honningbrew Meadery's front counter. "Oh, really?" He glared at her. "And I don't suppose you're thinking of doing it out of the kindness of your heart, are you?"

"You want your skeevers dealt with or not?" Issana dropped one hand to the battered sword she'd... obtained... from a merchant.

Sabjorn pressed a fat finger to his lips. "Hush! Not so loud. If you want to get paid, you'll keep your mouth shut, you hear? Those vermin have my reputation held in their filthy little claws."

Issana leaned against the doorframe. "How much are you offering?"

"Fifty Septims."

Issana snorted. "There might be a beggar who'd work for that little. Two hundred."

Sabjorn's eyes widened. "Two-_two hundred?_" he spluttered.

Issana reached for the door handle. Sabjorn made a strangled noise of exasperation. "One-fifty." He took a large bottle off the counter. "And I'll even supply the poison. Here. Use this on the nests. It'll stop them from coming back."

Issana reached out and took it from him. "Where's the warren?"

Sabjorn pointed through an adjacent doorway. "They've been coming up from a tunnel in the storage room. Watch you don't step in the traps."

Issana said nothing and drew her sword. It felt uncomfortably heavy in her grip; she'd rarely ever held a sword let alone used one. The tapered blade was nicked and jagged, not something she would trust in a fight, but for dealing with skeevers it was enough.

_I hope._

She'd also relieved the merchant of a set of leather bracers and thick gloves. She didn't want the giant rats scratching at her skin with those filth-ridden claws. _Damn, damn, damn you, Maven. This is not what my skills are for._

But it was a test. It had to be. Maven wouldn't waste resources sending the Guild all the way out here, not unless she was trying to prove a point. _See?_ Maven seemed to say. _I can take your best thief and use her as a beat-stick, because I'm Maven Black-Briar. I own you._

Issana rolled her eyes and stepped into the next room. It was mostly empty except for a large door on the far end. She went to it and opened it.

The smell hit her first. Musty straw, spilled mead, rat dung, even blood was permeating the air with its stench. She peered around the door and nearly gagged. Mangy rats the size of dogs lay dead, trapped in metal-jawed traps, while all around them were piled makeshift attempts at straw nests. Across the room was a large hole in the wall that led down into complete darkness.

Issana readied the blade and closed the door behind her. She stepped carefully, grimacing as her boot sank into something soft, and reached the tunnel. There was a torch on the wall, unlit, so she tugged it out of its holder and started it with a flint. The glow was warm and cast dancing shadows down the tunnel.

_By the Divines, how did I end up doing this?_

Issana pointed the sword straight ahead and stepped into the tunnel. It was just low enough that she had to stoop. She heard nothing except the echo of her footsteps and the crackle of the torch as it sent shadows skittering up the stony walls like a thousand tiny spiders. The smell lessened slightly as the tunnel took her deeper into the ground and away from the dead skeevers.

Ahead of her, something moved. She heard its footsteps and saw the shadows shift; she raised the sword-

The skeever launched itself out of the darkness. Issana stumbled as it hit her; its claws hooked into her clothing and its pointed muzzle snapped at her throat with jagged teeth. Issana cried out and struck it with the hilt of her sword, but it hung on and caused her to stagger forwards under its weight.

She pressed the point of the blade to its ribs and shoved. The rat gave a squeal and released its grip, nearly yanking the weapon from her grasp as it fell. Issana stumbled back against the wall and sank to the floor. Her chest heaved with deep, panicked breaths.

_It's all right. It's all right. It's over now. It's dead._

She stared at the dead animal, blood pouring from the hole in its side. It smelled awful. She gripped the sword tightly in trembling hands and stared down the dark tunnel. _They're just rats. I can deal with rats._ She rose slowly.

The tunnel descended deeper into the earth. She could see nothing except what her torch illuminated directly in front of her and every sound was magnified sharply off the rocky walls. She could feel cold sweat dripping down her back as she clenched the sword with nervous strength.

When the next skeever pounced from the gloom, she was ready. The creature sprang three feet up and four feet forwards, claws extended and teeth bared, and spitted itself on the end of her blade. It slid towards the hilt with a gurgle. Hot, sticky blood dripped onto Issana's hand and she wanted to vomit.

_No. I'm the best damn thief there is. I can get into anywhere, steal anything from anyone-I won't let a couple of bloody rodents make me feel weak. I'm better than this._

Issana tugged the sword free. I can do this. She prodded the dead skeever with one foot. It was just a rat. A diseased and aggressive rat the size of a dog, but a rat. An animal. All it had were a few cracked claws and teeth. She had a sword. She shook blood from the blade and readied it again.

The tunnel got damper the deeper she went. There were drips of water running down the wall and into little streams on the ground. Mushrooms were visible on the rock, odd little things that glowed an eerie green-blue when she drew near. She met two more skeevers, one after the other, and skewered them both. With each one she felt stronger, more sure of herself.

The tunnel opened up ahead into a large room lit with the same blue-green fungi. Issana stopped about twenty feet back. The tunnel was cramped, but at least nothing could get around behind her. Out there, if there were more skeevers…

Squeaking from the cave confirmed her suspicions. Judging by the sounds there were at least three or four scattered about. That wasn't a fight she wanted to try. Carefully, quietly, she dipped her torch into a pool at her feet and extinguished it, leaving only the light of the mushrooms.

Then a man spoke.

"Patience, my children. Food will be ready soon enough."

The squealing intensified. There were definitely more than four of the things. And who was the speaker? "There you are, my children. Eat up."

Issana crept to the edge of the tunnel and leaned out. The cave was maybe fifty feet long and ran perpendicular to the tunnel, supported by large, natural pillars of stone carved out by the small river running through the centre. At the far end was a table set with bottles and little bowls of things Issana couldn't make out. A man stood beside it, clad in nothing more than a fur kilt, and around him writhed a pile of at least six skeevers.

"Yes," he said. "Eat. You will need your strength."

Beside the skeevers was a huge pile of straw, probably six feet high and twice that across. Another skeever jumped out of it and joined its brethren.

_That's the nest. It has to be._

Issana felt for the bottle of poison hanging on the back of her belt. It seemed a bit small now. And with seven skeevers and a lunatic in the way, she might not even get a chance to use it. She leaned out to get a better view.

With a crack, the part of the stone wall she was holding gave way and clattered onto the ground. Issana swore and crept swiftly back up the tunnel. From the cave she heard the man hiss, "Go, my children! Find out what's out there."

Issana readied the sword as she backed away. She could hear the scratching of dozens of claws on the rock and the hungry squeaking of the vermin. She was just about to turn and run when two of them rounded the corner and saw her.

"All right, you bastards, come here." Issana swung the sword in front of her. "Come and get me."

The two skeevers charged. Three more appeared behind them, scrabbling over one another to get ahead, and behind them were two more. Issana backed away, keeping the sword ready, and when the first skeever pounced, she lunged. Her sword went through its gut and out the other side, but she hardly had time to notice as the second skeever went for her legs. She gave it a vicious kick to the face as she struggled to shake her sword free and then sprinted back up the passage. A heavy swing of her sword caught the next skeever out of the air to where it fell, mewling, to the ground, and two more met their end as they tried to climb over each other to get to her.

_Three to go._

Thrust.

_Two._

She swung.

_One._

The last skeever was in the air, leaping from the corpses of its fallen brethren, when Issana half-turned and let it impale itself on her blade. Its claws scrabbled feebly at her from where it hung. Issana tipped the weapon towards the ground and it slid off, whimpering until it lay completely still. Issana wiped blood from her hands onto her trousers.

"Children?"

Issana swore. She'd completely forgotten about the man.

"Children? Where did you go? Did you find who it was? Was it that cruel, cruel meadery man who sets traps for us?"

Issana didn't see him coming around the corner until it was too late. His pale, withered face wrinkled into an expression of horror. "My children!" he shrieked. "You-you-you _murderer!_"

Issana whirled the blade menacingly. "Back off. Now."

Flames sprang to life in his palm.

Her eyes widened.

As the fire leaped from his hands, she turned and ran. The heat washed over her, boiling water from the walls and making her gasp in pain, but she kept going. Behind her she could hear the man wailing and screaming in pursuit; fire splashed across the wall just behind her and turned the rocks black. In its light she could see the body of one of the first skeevers she'd killed and she leaped over it. Behind her she heard the man stumble over the corpse. The flames ceased for a moment as he recovered.

She reached the storage room and vaulted the traps. Fire spurted across the wooden wall beside her and the man screeched in rage as she threw the door open and dodged into the meadery.

Sabjorn looked stunned. "You're-"

"No time, run!" She flew past him as a stream of flame boiled out from the storage room. Sabjorn froze with terror.

"RUN!" Issana screamed, and seized him by the shirt. She kicked the door of the meadery open and hurled him onto the road before diving after him. Fire exploded from the windows. "_Murderers!_" came the shriek behind them. "_I'll kill you a_-AH!"

His scream was cut short as a section of the meadery's roof fell inwards. Fire leaped up through the hole and within seconds the whole building was an inferno. Sabjorn fell to his knees, watching in horror as the meadery was consumed.

The heat forced Issana to back away as she tried to regain her breath. Glancing down, she realized she'd dropped the sword somewhere, but she didn't care. There were worse things to be concerned about. As she stared at the flames, there was only one thing she knew for sure.

Maven was going to be furious.


	22. A World's Madness

Mallus' face was ashen as he leaned across the table in the Bannered Mare. "What did you _do?_"

"I didn't do anything!" said Issana, "The crazy mage living in the tunnels, he's the one that burned the place down."

"What crazy mage?"

"How should I know?" Issana snapped. "He just kept going on about how the skeevers were his children, then he chased me all the way back to the meadery and set the place on fire. So don't try and blame me for a botched job. I'm a thief, not some skeever-hunting mage-killer."

Mallus threw up his arms in exasperation. "Do you think that matters? Who cares whose fault it was? Maven will have both our heads unless we think of something. She wanted those documents, and she'll be furious when she finds out we don't have them."

"What was in them?"

Mallus rubbed a hand across his pale face. "I don't know. Honningbrew was cutting in on her sales of Black-Briar mead across the country. Somehow Sabjorn managed to expand way too quickly. Maven wanted him out of the picture and wanted to know how he did it."

"We could ask him."

Mallus stared at her in disbelief. "You think he even wants to talk to us? After what happened? He's knee deep in drink right now."

Issana glanced across the inn and saw Sabjorn with his chin on a table, staring at a half-full mug of ale. "I can get him to talk," Issana said, "spin the story a little differently. I might have overheard something from the mage that made it seem like someone was out to get Sabjorn."

"Really?"

Issana rolled her eyes. "No, you idiot. That's what we tell Sabjorn. Someone was out to get him, so we need to know anything unusual that happened over the last year. Maybe he made some enemies by making a deal with someone."

"That-" Mallus glanced over at Sabjorn. "That might work."

"Of course it will. Stay here."

"Why?"

"I don't want you messing this up."

Mallus' expression darkened but he said nothing. Issana rose and crossed the room, weaving through the crowd and drawing a nervous stare from Mikael. She sat down across from Sabjorn. He looked up, his eyes struggling to focus. "What do… what do you want?"

Issana leaned forwards. "That mage said something while I was down there. I didn't quite make it out, but it sounded like he had a plan to come after you."

Sabjorn downed the rest of his ale, sloshing most of it onto his shirt. "He-_hic_-succeeded, then."

"No, he said something about a partner. Someone who was out to get you. Do you have any enemies?"

"Maven…" he grunted. "Maven sodding Black-Briar."

Issana shook her head. "That's not what it sounded like. Anyone else? Did anything unusual happen recently? Did you do something?"

"I never did anything," Sabjorn stammered. "All I wanted was… was to-_hic_-expand my profits."

"How?"

Sabjorn gave her a wary look. "You're just a… a mercenary. What do you-_hic_-care?"

"I don't like unknowns. If somebody's going to come after you, they might come after me for getting involved."

Sabjorn's eyes seemed to defocus for a moment. "I… I got a gen-gen-" He looked up and around as if searching for the word in the air. "-generous. They said they wanted Honningbrew to… to spread. Maybe… push Black-Briar out a bit."

"Who?"

Sabjorn shook his head. "Never-_hic_-got a name. Elf lady. Dunmer."

Issana stood up. "Thanks."

"But-but-" Sabjorn called after her. "H-_hic_-hey! Who's after me? Who's out to-hic-out to get me?"

Issana paused and half-turned towards him. "No idea." She disappeared into the crowd and rejoined Mallus at his table. Mallus looked at her expectantly. "What'd he say?"

"I was right. He got funding from somebody. Someone who wanted to cut in on Maven's profits."

"Did you find out who?"

"No. Dark elf woman. That's all Sabjorn knew."

From the city square outside the inn came sudden shouts. Mallus glanced over his shoulder irritably at the door. "Maybe it'll make sense to Maven. Or one of your friends in the Guild."

Issana nodded. "Maybe."

The shouting grew louder and Mallus turned around again, face an expression of annoyance. "What in Oblivion is going on out there?"

Issana rose as the noise became interspersed with clanking metal and banging. Several other patrons met her halfway to the door, all with the same concerned look on their faces. Issana shoved the door open.

The wave of noise nearly knocked her off her feet. It was as if all of Whiterun had crammed into the square, pushing around and yelling things Issana couldn't make sense of. A man had leaped up onto a low wall and was shouting out to the crowd. "Down with the Empire!" he roared. His hair was grey but his eyes were on fire with fervor. "Death to the elf-lovers! Skyrim! Skyrim!"

The crowd took up the chant, bellowing their approval and raising their fists, but many of them booed instead and shouted him down. A second elderly man, dressed in rich furs, sprang up beside him and called out, "Are we such fools as the Gray-Manes? The Empire is strength! The Empire is unity! By the Divines, I'll die for Skyrim, but not for a murderer like Ulfric Stormcloak!"

Guards started pushing their way through the throng towards the speakers. Issana was shoved roughly aside and nearly fell, but someone caught her. Rune pulled her upright.

"What in Oblivion is going on here?" she exclaimed.

"Didn't you hear? The Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak, attacked High King Torygg and killed him! He's declared war on the Empire!"

"What?"

"Skyrim is falling apart!" said Rune. "The eastern holds have sided with Ulfric but the Empire has seized control of most of the west. Rebels in Hjaalmarch and the Pale were slaughtered. People in Windhelm are rioting and massacring the legionaries." He looked at her, horror on his face. "Issana, it's civil war. We have to get back to Riften before the city shuts itself in!"

Issana turned her gaze back to the two shouting men. The guards had pulled them away from each other but it didn't stop them from spitting insults at one another and the crowd.

"ENOUGH!"

Every man and woman in the crowd went silent and looked towards the voice. Jarl Balgruuf stood, sword drawn, upon a low hill with his guards forming a wall around him. "I will not have my city descend into chaos!" His gaze swept the mass of people. "Yes, there is a war. Ulfric Stormcloak has taken up arms against the Empire. How many of you would have me join him, pledge Whiterun to his cause? How many of you would not? No matter the choice, to side with either would put every life in this city at risk! Whiterun would become a battlefield. Would you see that happen? Would you have our city fought over as little more than territory to be conquered? How many times would our walls be taken and retaken as both sides fight to control our lands? No. I will not see my people slaughtered! Please, I am asking you to remain calm in this difficult time. We must look to our own defences and protect our own lands from those who would do us harm. We _must_ stay out of this fight."

There was silence for a moment, then someone shouted, "Whiterun for the Empire!"

Issana didn't see what happened next, but suddenly the whole front of the crowd had erupted into chaos. People were shouting, some were throwing punches, and the two men who had first spoken had drawn swords and were pointing them at each other. Others leaped up to join them with weapons in hand. The guards waded in, knocking people down and dragging the aggressors out of the crowd. The armed conflict near the wall was set upon with shields raised as the soldiers drove the combatants apart. Rune grabbed Issana by the shoulder. "We have to go."

Issana didn't hesitate. They pushed their way out of the crowd and down towards the city gates. Issana looked back and saw more fights breaking out in the back of the mass of people. "This is madness."

"Yes," Rune said. "It's called war."


	23. Breaking Point

Ivarstead cut a very different picture than it had two weeks before. Barricades had been erected across the roads and guards stood watch with weapons drawn. Issana was startled by the mix of liveries: only a few now bore the crossed swords of the Rift, while across the shields of the rest was emblazoned the great bear sigil of Ulfric Stormcloak.

Aside from the soldiers, the streets were deserted.

"Halt!" One of the soldiers leveled a spear at them as they approached the town. "Who are you?"

Issana swallowed nervously as she saw several soldiers nocking arrows to their bows. "We're on our way to Riften. Just passing through."

"Riften?" said the guard. "What's your business there?"

"Home."

"What work do you do?"

Issana frowned. "Mercenaries."

"Really?" said the guard. He looked her up and down. "You don't look like a mercenary to me. Whose pay?"

"Maven Black-Briar."

The man burst out laughing. "How stupid do you think I am? Hah! Maven Black-Briar indeed."

"Look," said Issana, "all we want is a place to spend the night and replenish our supplies. The innkeeper, Wilhelm, he knows us. We were here two weeks ago on our way to Whiterun."

The guard gestured to a second soldier, who turned and strode into town. "You don't mind if we check that, do you?"

The soldier returned a moment later. "Innkeeper recognized the description. Story checks out."

The first guard stepped aside to allow them past the barricade. "Lucky you. Keep out of trouble."

Issana stepped through and entered the town. The sun was setting behind the Throat of the World, already casting deep shadows into the streets as they made their way to the inn. Aside from a few patrolling guards, they saw no one. All of the townsfolk were indoors, shutters closed. Issana could feel the tension in the air, a taut silence as if the whole world was pulled tight, ready to snap.

The inn was no different. A few men and women sat around the room, backs to the wall. There was little conversation; most of them seemed too occupied with watching one another warily. Three soldiers with the emblem of the Stormcloaks on their tunics leaned against the bar, the only source of noise in the inn. They drank and laughed uproariously, apparently oblivious to everything around them.

Issana took a table at the far end of the room and Rune joined her. Wilhelm approached a moment later. Issana gestured with a nod towards the soldiers. "Busy night?"

Wilhelm glanced over at the soldiers nervously. "Arrived two days ago, nearly twenty of them. Offered the town guards the chance to pledge themselves to Ulfric, or leave." He hesitated. "Not everyone went quietly… Good people died that day."

A hearty guffaw resounded through the inn. "Ho there! Barkeep!"

Wilhelm turned, a worried expression on his face. "Excuse me," he murmured, and strode over to the bar.

Issana watched as one of the guards reached into a pouch and pulled out some coins. "Got any more of that mead, barkeep?"

Wilhelm went behind the bar and backed away to the wall, clearly putting as much distance between himself and the soldiers as possible. "Only a few more bottles," he said. "You and your fellows have nearly cleaned me out."

The soldier threw his arms wide. "Then what're we waiting for? Let's finish 'em up!" He slammed the coins onto the bar. "Whatever you've got left. If you please..."

Wilhelm glanced down at the coins and fidgeted for a moment. "That's…" he began. "That's not even enough for one bottle."

The soldier leaned an elbow onto the bar and beckoned Wilhelm with his fingers. "You'll have to come closer," he said, dropping his voice low. "I must have misheard you. I thought you said that this wasn't enough money."

Wilhelm's face paled. "Y-yes, of course. I'll fetch the bottles, just give me a moment."

Rune turned his gaze from the soldiers back to Issana. "Shame poor Wilhelm's got to deal with them. Soldiers are unpleasant enough even without a war on."

Wilhelm returned, fumbling with an armful of bottles. One of the soldiers reached over the bar and tugged one out of his grasp, nearly dislodging the rest. Wilhelm hastily dumped the bottles onto the bar. "Last of my Honningbrew," he said. "As requested."

Issana sighed sadly. "Last of the Honningbrew," she echoed. "Might even be the last anywhere in Skyrim."

Rune laughed. "Oh? And whose fault is that?"

Issana gave him a dark look. "Not mine, thank you very much."

Rune grinned. "No, I suppose not. You sure you couldn't have dealt with that mage in a way that didn't burn the whole place down?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about it," said Rune, waving dismissively. "Maven's reasonable, isn't she?"

Issana snorted and was about to reply when something across the inn caught her attention. She leaned out from her chair to see. Rune turned his head. "What? What is it?"

A burly orc had risen from his seat near the edge of the room. His green skin rippled with muscle and his tusks jutted upwards from his mouth, giving him a permanent grimace. His voice was deep, menacing. "You should pay him what you owe."

The middle soldier, the one who had paid for the mead, turned around. "Excuse me?"

The orc rested one hand on his table where a heavy, wooden crossbow lay. "I said, you should pay him what you owe."

The soldier nudged his two companions. "Hear that, boys? Tuskface here thinks we should pay more than we ought. Thinks we haven't earned our keep by looking after the town. What do you think about that?"

The two other men turned around, snickering. "What are you gonna do about it, greenskin?" said one.

"Careful now, orc," added the other. "You get on the wrong side of us and you might wind up being labeled an Empire-lover."

"Believe me," said the orc, "that is the least of my fears."

"Oh?" said the middle soldier, taking a step towards him. "Is it true, then? Do you-" He swayed momentarily but caught himself. "Do you know what we do to Empire-lovers?"

The orc's fingers touched the crossbow, just for a moment. "Three drunkards don't frighten me."

The soldier sneered. "Well," he said. "Maybe we oughta change that." His hand edged towards his axe.

The orc's fingers crept over the crossbow.

Issana gave Rune a quick glance. "I think Wilhelm has the right idea."

Rune's eyes swept the room and settled on the innkeeper crouching in a corner behind the bar. He nodded. "We might want to take cover."

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then the door to the inn exploded inwards. A guard, tunic bearing the crossed swords of the Rift, stood framed in the entrance, eyes wide with panic. "Look out!" he gasped. "We're under-"

Issana let out an involuntary yelp as a spearhead erupted from the man's chest. He looked down, confusion playing about his face before the spear vanished and he pitched forwards onto his face. Behind him stood a man clad in the leather and steel of an Imperial legionary.

A second later, all hell broke loose.


	24. Blood and Steel

The legionary charged. The Stormcloaks scattered and the orc grabbed his crossbow and dove out of the way. The legionary's spear caught the nearest Stormcloak in the gut, driving him backwards with such force that it slammed him into the bar and punched straight through his mail. Another legionary came through the door, shield raised and sword poised, and the two remaining Stormcloaks backed away.

Issana shrank behind the table as one of the Stormcloaks bumped his back against it. The legionary was advancing on him, cold determination in his eyes. The Stormcloak raised his axe, clutching it with both hands.

With a wild yell the other Stormcloak charged. The legionary caught the blow on his shield and swung in return, his blade sweeping horizontally across the Stormcloak's unprotected throat. Crimson flecks sprayed onto the table and the man fell.

The last Stormcloak struck. His axe buried itself in the legionary's shield and stuck there. The legionary tugged and the weapon came free of the Stormcloak's grasp. "Surrender!" he commanded.

"A true nord never-"

The legionary's sword silenced him forever. His corpse fell back onto the table with a heavy thud, oozing blood across the woodwork. The two legionaries didn't hesitate and vanished through the open door.

Issana was frozen to her chair, wishing she could close her eyes as she stared at the dead man. Blood was pooling on the table and dripping off the side.

From the floor, something gurgled. Horrified, wishing she could stop, she peered over the table.

The other Stormcloak was reaching weakly across the floor with one hand. The other was pressed to his throat, soaked with blood that still splashed from between his fingers. His mouth opened and closed again and again as if he was trying to speak, trying to breathe, and through the blood Issana recognized him. The bully. The soldier who had cheated the innkeeper.

He coughed, a wet, slippery noise that spurted blood through his hand. His fingers reached out for her, twitching feebly, and his eyes were wide and pleading.

His head sank to the floor and he lay still.

_Issana._

The voice seemed to be coming from far away.

_Issana._

"Issana!"

Rune seized her roughly by the shoulder and spun her to face him. "We have to go! Now!" He pulled her upright and dragged her towards the door. She looked back over her shoulder at the corpses but Rune pulled her outside.

Sound rushed back into her ears. There was yelling, screaming, swords clashing, bows twanging, and the world around her seemed to be spinning. People ran, soldiers charged, someone fell from a roof. Rune was pulling her through the streets and she could hardly feel her own movements. The town blurred past; someone screamed at her-it might have been Rune. A fire was burning somewhere off to the left but she didn't know what it was.

"Issana!"

She jumped, startled. Rune had her by the shoulders and was shaking her roughly. "Issana!"

"I-" She began, but had no idea what she was saying. The noise of battle was gone. All around them was darkness. "I'm…"

Without warning she fell to her hands and knees and heaved into the grass. Convulsions wracked her body for several long seconds. "I…" she said at last. "I'm all right. I'm all right now."

Rune shook his head. "No, you're not. You're in shock. You've been in a daze for almost an hour. You need to sit down, stay calm. It's over now. We're far away."

"I…" Issana wiped her mouth on her sleeve and fell back against a tree trunk. "I saw him die. I saw them all die."

Rune sank down beside her. He said nothing. Issana couldn't stop herself. She fell against his shoulder, heavy sobs heaving through her chest as tears poured down her face.

"It's all right," he said softly. She felt his hand run through her hair. "It's all right. Everything will be all right in the end."

But she knew it wouldn't. The war had just begun.

And it would only get worse.


	25. The Hunter

_Grelod. She towers. Yelling._

_Fear. In my blood. In my bones. Can't run. Can't hide. She sees. She knows._

_She hits. It hurts. Again. Still yelling._

_Tears. Can't control them. Anger. Fear. Either. Both. Falling. Can't protect myself. She follows. Hitting. Beating._

_Again._

_Again._

_Again…_

Issana's eyes snapped open. She heard her own gasp of wakefulness, felt the warmth of the embers nearby, saw the dancing glow of torchbugs.

Just a dream.

She breathed deep, letting the cool air wipe away the memories. Grelod's face began to fade from her vision.

They weren't common, the nightmares. She got them rarely enough now that she could almost pretend they never happened. But when they did come, when they crept up into her mind in the dark of night…

It felt like they'd never left.

_Damn you, Grelod. You don't own me anymore. I left. I'm free of you._ She sat up.

_So why can't I forget?_

She rested her chin on her knees, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, and stared into the remains of the fire. The nightmare was always the same moment, when Grelod had beaten her so hard she'd fallen onto the hearth. She glanced down at her palm. _Still have the scar._

Issana didn't know what time it was, but the embers had burned dim enough that it had to be near dawn. _Guess I'm not going back to sleep._

She glanced up towards the nearby trees. Their camp was maybe fifty feet from the road but the trees were thick enough that it might as well have been half a mile for all she could tell. The sky and surrounding forest was still dark with no sign of a sunrise. Maybe I should go back to sleep after all.

She was about to lay down again when she froze. She blinked, her eyes straining into the shadows between the trees.

_No. Nothing there. Must've been my imagin-_

It moved again. Issana stared into the blackness, trying to make it out.

Nothing. Only shadows.

Issana let her breath out slowly. _Still on edge. Bloody nightmares._

Then one of the shadows moved.

It peeled away from the recesses of a tree, sliding like smoke over the ground, and as it pooled in the grass it took shape. A man. Tall, well built, with pale skin and eyes that were almost lamplike in the gloom.

Issana's mouth shot open to cry out but the man raised a finger to his dark lips. "Sssh," he murmured. "Sleep…"

Issana felt suddenly leaden. Her eyelids wavered; all she wanted to do was sink back, let sleep return…

_CRACK_

A blood-curdling shriek ripped the night apart. Issana lurched upright and saw the pale-skinned man falling, his hands clutching his chest as he tumbled backwards to the ground. Rune stared at the man, then at her, eyes wide with shock. "What-" he began.

"Gotcha, you bastard," said a voice from behind them.

Issana's gaze whipped round. "You!"

The orc from the tavern had his crossbow up on one shoulder. He walked towards them with a slow, confident swagger, eyes flicking between the body and the two of them. "Yes. I've been following you since you left Ivarstead."

Issana stared at him. "Why?"

The orc gestured to the dead man's corpse. "That bastard's been following you since then too. I did you a favour."

"He-" Issana glanced back at the body. "He's been following us? Who is he?"

The orc walked past her and planted a booted foot on the corpse. "Not who. What. Been tracking this thing since it left Hjaalmarch." He drew a thin blade with his free hand and used to to push the dead man's lips apart. "Would you look at that?" he said, whistling. "Hungry one. Looks like it hasn't fed in a while."

Rune got up nervously. "What are you talking about?"

The orc tucked the knife away and stood upright. "Leech. Bloodsucker." He looked over at them. "Vampire."

"Vamp-_vampire?_" Issana repeated. She gave the corpse a horrified glance as if it was about to lurch upright.

"Yes, vampire." The orc prodded the body with his boot. "Don't believe me? Come and have a look."

Issana rose. She walked over to the orc and stared down at the corpse. It was pale, nearly white, with a transparency to the skin that showed blue veins beneath. But the lips… Dark red, like dried blood, and between them she could see long, ivory fangs.

Issana let out a slow breath. "What… what was it going to do?"

The orc shrugged. "Bite you. Drink your blood. What all vampires do."

"Good thing you were here, then," said Issana.

"Yes, it is."

Rune came up beside them, gazing at the corpse with horrified fascination. "So that's what you do? Hunt these things?"

The orc nodded. "A few others, too. Isran keeps talking about reforming the Dawnguard, but the last thing we need is any sort of organization. Just gives the vampires a target."

"A target?" Issana said. "Are there… lots of these things out there?"

"Didn't use to be," said the orc. He swung his crossbow off his shoulder and caught it in his other hand. "But something's changing. They're getting bolder."

"That's… comforting."

"No, it's not." The orc ran his thumb and forefinger along the crossbow's string. He grunted and tossed his crossbow back up onto his shoulder. "I should go. Told Isran I'd meet him in Riften in two days." He scowled down at the dead vampire. "Got held up by this damn thing."

Rune finally glanced up from the body. He looked startled. "We're headed to Riften too. Maybe we should-"

"No." The orc gave him a narrow-eyed glare. "Good luck." He turned and strode away. Issana watched him until he disappeared into the trees.

She glanced down at the vampire and felt a shiver crawl up her spine. Whatever foul spell the creature had worked to put her to sleep had left her feeling violated, like someone had come up beside her and whispered something indecent in her ear. She shuddered. "I'm not going to be getting anymore sleep tonight," she said. "You?"

"No."

Issana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We might as well press on, then."

Behind her, Rune gave one last look at the vampire, then he followed after her.


	26. An Old Enemy

Riften was brooding.

Dark clouds hung in the sky and fog was wreathed in thick tendrils around the trees. Sound felt deadened, muffled, as if the air was trying to stifle it. Nobody seemed to want to speak in case the heavy atmosphere would devour the sound as soon as it was uttered.

The change in Riften's mood set Issana on edge. The market square was empty of merchants, filled instead by soldiers that cast wary looks at anyone passing by. Flags of both the Rift and Ulfric Stormcloak hung heavy on spears in the silence.

"Good luck," said Rune.

Issana looked over at him. "If Maven's feeling reasonable, I won't need it."

"_If,_" Rune echoed. "Good luck."

Issana turned and strode up the road. Maven's manor stood tall over the surrounding houses, cloaked wraithlike in the fog. Issana reached the footpath to the door and slowed. There was no way Maven could be angry, was there? Disappointed, maybe, but not angry. _I could have done the job fine if not for that mad wizard._

But there was no point in waiting. If anything, more delay would just make the situation worse. Issana strode up to the ornate door and knocked loudly.

It swung open silently. Carrus, Maven's elderly servant, stared at her over a hooked nose. A thin smile spread across his wrinkled mouth. "Welcome, thief," he said. "Lady Maven is expecting you."

"That's why I'm here."

Carrus smiled wider. "She is… not in the most amiable spirit. I would not keep her waiting, if I were you."

Issana tensed. She stepped into the house.

Maven was seated at the head of a long table, upon which was set a magnificent spread of meats, cheeses and wine. At the table were two others, a young, dark-haired woman who bore a striking resemblance to Maven, and a man who wasn't much older.

Maven looked up at Issana from her chair. She set her knife down softly. "Ingun. Sibbi. Leave us."

The young woman rose at once. "Yes, mother," she said, and slipped from the room. The man gave his food a longing glance and shot Issana a venomous look before he followed, shutting the door behind him.

Maven rose gracefully. "You've returned."

Issana nodded.

"It's very brave of you," Maven said. "After botching a job that badly, most people would have fled. Yet here you are."

Issana swallowed hard.

Maven stalked slowly around the table, tracing her fingertips over the carven chairs. "Tell me, was it a mistake to hire you?"

"N-no," Issana said. "There was a mage-"

"Yes, the crazy mage living in the tunnels," Maven said. "So I heard."

"He was raising the skeevers, and when he-"

Maven silenced her with a move of her hand. "I know." She stared into Issana's eyes, unmoving, unblinking. Issana glanced down at the ground.

"But," said Maven suddenly, "you aren't as unlucky as some would think. Although burning down the Meadery was not at all my ideal solution, it's more a blow to Mallus than to me. It harms only profits I had hoped to make, not what I already have."

Issana looked up.

"Provided," Maven added before she could speak, "that you at least have some good news you can give me."

Issana opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. She cleared her throat and the noise startled her. "Well, I did get Sabjorn to talk. He had an investor. Someone who was backing him in an effort to target you."

Maven stared at her expectantly.

"A dark elf woman."

Maven didn't move. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Does it?"

"No."

Issana held her breath, hoping Maven would continue speaking. She did. "Speak to Brynjolf. Or Mercer, or whoever in your petty little Guild would know." Maven knuckles whitened as her fingers tightened on the back of a chair. "And bring me this elf's head." She smiled. "Do you understand?"

Issana nodded vigorously.

"Good. Now, get out."

Issana needed no second urging. She turned as quickly as she could and left.

The empty, once-vibrant streets of Riften felt unpleasant as Issana made her way towards the Guild. She crossed through the graveyard, weaving her way around the tombstones, and ducked into the low sepulchre. At a touch of the carving, the sarcophagus slid away and she vanished into the passage.

The tunnel was damp and the floor was muddy with old rainwater that splashed over her boots. At the far end, maybe twenty feet away, was a hole in the ground that flickered with orange firelight. She reached the hole, grabbed the ladder attached to one side, and slid down into the cistern.

"Well, well," came Delvin's voice as her feet hit the floor. "Look who made it back."

Issana turned around and saw Delvin standing with Rune and Cynric. Delvin and Cynric looked vaguely impressed; Rune just looked relieved.

"Maven let you off, then?" said Delvin.

"Something like that," said Issana. "Where's Mercer? I need to talk to him."

"He's gone topside," answered Cynric. "Had to, ah, smooth some things over with the city guard."

Issana frowned. "What happened?"

Delvin sighed. "Somebody was digging. Trying to find dirt on some of our contacts. Dirge and Thrynn went to… convince her to leave town." He shook his head. "Got themselves bloodied up and tossed in Riften jail."

"Somebody bloodied Dirge _and_ Thrynn?" said Issana. "Who'd they pick a fight with, a troll?"

Cynric snorted. "Close to it. Mjoll didn't earn the title 'Lioness' for nothing."

"Mjoll," Issana muttered. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"She's been one of our more… outspoken friends of late," said Delvin. "Talk of the city."

"No, that's not it." Issana closed her eyes for a second, trying to remember.

That night. Her first one on the streets. The skooma dealer. A pang of… something... shot through her. "What happened?"

"She was proving a bit of an annoyance for some of our contacts. Dirge and Thrynn were supposed to teach her a lesson. Ended up in prison with five broken bones between them."

Issana raised her eyebrows.

"Like I said," Cynric put in, "Mercer's cityside trying to fix it."

"Not anymore," came Mercer's harsh voice from across the cistern. Issana and her companions looked round and saw him close the door to the Ragged Flagon behind him. "I swear," Mercer growled, "if you spent more time being decent thieves and less time gossiping, we wouldn't have so many botched-" His eyes fell on Issana. "Oh, it's you."

"Mercer, I need to talk to you."

Mercer strode towards them. "I'm listening."

"Someone was funding Honningbrew Meadery to get at Maven. Maven wants us to find them."

Mercer stared at her. "Oh, is that all? Should we just start asking people, then?"

"No." Issana glared at him. "I already asked around. It was a dark elf woman, though-"

Mercer ground to a halt. He raised a hand. "What did she look like?"

"I-" Issana frowned. "I don't know."

Mercer cast a look over his shoulder towards his desk. "A dark elf woman? You're sure?"

"Yes, that's what-"

Mercer swore and sprang into a run. He reached his desk, scattering papers with a sweep of his hand until he seized one and held it next to a candle, peering hard at it.

Issana strode over to him. "Wait, I recognize that. It was in Goldenglow's safe. What's going on?"

"Nobody's targeting Maven," snapped Mercer. "They're targeting us. Throw enough problems at Maven and sooner or later we'll mess one up badly enough that she'll take it out on us. There!" He pointed at the upper right corner of the page. Issana stared. Little markings had bloomed in dark ink onto the page.

"What is it?"

Mercer ignored her, his eyes flicking back and forth across the page. He was mouthing words but Issana didn't catch them.

"Mercer," said Delvin. "Mercer, what's going on? What is this?"

Mercer looked up at last. "A problem." He pointed at the markings. "It's a code. One I-" He paused. "One I broke years ago. She knows I can read this. She knows I'm the only one still alive who can. This was meant for me."

There was a brief moment of silence before Cynric said, "What does it say?"

Mercer's eyes had narrowed. "_Where the end began._" He looked at Issana. "You're coming with me. We're going to deal with this once and for all."

"I-what? Why me?"

"Because if you'd done your job properly, we wouldn't be in this mess. Pack warm. We're going to Windhelm."

"Windhelm?" Issana exclaimed. "What? Why?"

"Karliah."

"Who?"

"The dark elf," snarled Mercer. "She's a murderer, a traitor, and I swore that if I ever found her again I'd put an end to her. We know where she is. I'm going after her. And you're coming with me."

"To Windhelm? No!"

"Excuse me?"

Issana shook her head. "I just spend a month on the road. I need rest. I need real food. I'm not going to Windhelm."

"You don't have a choice," said Mercer. "You got us into this."

"Well, actually, Karliah did-"

"And," Mercer cut in, "I'll need someone who can get through locked doors. That's you."

"Yes, exactly!" said Issana. "I pick locks. I climb through windows. I don't fight!"

Cynric snickered. "Remember that time you floored Vex?"

"Shut up." Issana folded her arms and stared at Mercer. "Forget it. I'm not going anywhere. I'm done with traveling. I'm not going to run after some crazed murderer and get myself killed."

Mercer slammed his fist down on the desk. "This is _your_ fault, Issana! You played into Karliah's hand when you failed at Honningbrew. She'll only get bolder, understand? You're coming with me, and we're going to fix the mess you started. Got it?"

"Mercer, are you sure about this?" said Delvin. "How do you even know this Karliah'll still be there?"

"Wherever_ there_ is," Issana muttered.

"Because I know her," said Mercer. "I know how she works, how she thinks."

"But if that message was intended for you, then isn't this a trap?"

Mercer reached under his desk and pulled out a narrow-bladed, sheathed sword. He tossed it to Issana. "Of course it is."

Issana dropped the sword back onto the desk with a clatter. "No. I'm not getting involved in your fight."

"My fight?" said Mercer. "Karliah will bring down the whole damn Guild if she isn't stopped. You want that? You want to see Delvin, Rune, Cynric, Brynjolf all dead? Because that's what's going to happen if we don't stop her."

"So take someone with you who can fight! What use am I going to be?"

"I don't need someone who can fight," said Mercer. "I can fight. I need someone who can get me into Karliah's hiding place. And that's you."

Issana gritted her teeth. Then she snatched the sword off the desk. "Fine. I'll do it. But," she added, "after we get back, I'm taking a month-long break from everything. No jobs, no contracts, no Maven, no murderers. Just me, my mead and my money. Deal?"

Mercer nodded slowly. "Deal."


End file.
